


The Beetle Bride

by EarthAngelGirl30



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Dream Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Heavy Petting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love Confessions, Mild Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, My First Work in This Fandom, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Friendship, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Teen Angst, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 76,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthAngelGirl30/pseuds/EarthAngelGirl30
Summary: It's approaching the two year anniversary of the incident which has quite possibly left seventeen year old Lydia Deetz emotionally traumatised for life.But the malevolent spirit which haunted her family's home now haunts her dreams, confusing her to the point where she's flirting with danger and the possibility of calling him back.But if he returns, will it coincide with a different kind of anniversary, as he has an agenda of his own, and unfinished business to attend to.... This story is dedicated to Sarah, to whom I am grateful for spurring me into writing this. *Disclaimer* I do not own the rights to the characters from the Beetlejuice movie/cartoon (sadly) and i do not make any profit from this work.





	1. The Ghost of her Dreams

Another night. Another dream.  
No two were the same, each one unique and vivid, and beyond preposterous. Her adventures were wild, and vast. Exploring an eclectically colourful yet undoubtedly creepy world whilst she slept, left her feeling decidedly more hollow on the inside each morning. Waking to face dreary, mundane reality and go about her banal existence. Indeed, Lydia's life sorely lacked excitement, colour and shenanigans. The likes of which only he was able to provide.  
Because although she was loathed to admit it, the twisted dream world she visited each night always guaranteed one unchangeable feature. Her companion. The inhabitant who made her flitting between worlds possible. He who's name she dared not even think, let alone say.  
Her inner, more sensible voice continuously lectured her on sense and reason, and it chided her for being utterly ridiculous. Insisting the trauma she'd endured at his hands almost two years ago now, had obviously created such a negative impact. It had presumably left serious psychological scars. And perhaps the dreams were her way of subconsciously dealing with the emotional turmoil. 

But in her other ear, whispered the figurative devil which sat atop her shoulder. Causing the doubt to seep in, and as it whispered the unthinkable, her ivory skin blushed pink and feelings of guilt and shame flooded her. She'd done some reading up on the subject of dream analysis, so knowing that it was predominantly him that brought her dreams to life, made her question her sanity, ethics and darkest desires. She knew it wasn't a coincidence. Although her imagination had somehow concocted a less malevolent, sleazy incarnation of him, perhaps as a coping mechanism, the fact that he was even taking up space in her head was both worrisome and frustrating in equal measures. He'd moved into her dreams uninvited and was walking, or even levitating, around each night and she actually enjoyed his presence. Taking the role of a lovable rogue, in her dreams he was nothing more than a trickster figure sporting his dirty black and off-white striped suit, who delighted in pulling pranks on others. Posessing bizarre and unfathomably power, despite his ghoulish appearance he was undeniably likeable. And incredulously, she delighted in his company. He made her smile and somehow lifted her heavy spirits like no one in the waking, living world could. 

And surely this was harmless enough? They were only dreams after all. Yet the crushing hit of normality she felt every morning when her alarm sounded for school, was even more unbearable after having spent the night running wild in her dreams, with a companion who not only accepted her for who she was, but made her feel completely at ease and good about herself as well.  
The irony was bitter and wasn't lost on her, how one such as he could've made such an impression. Even though he wasn't the joker who posed no real threat in her dreams, in fact the harsh truth was he was a dangerous poltergeist. Yet still it was due to his influence, one way or another, that she woke with a smile on her face, and made everything more tolerable somehow.

Why wasn't Barbara and Adam enough for her? She asked herself over and over again. She was painfully aware of how selfish she was, after all not every seventeen year old possessed the ability to converse and interact with spirits. And not only that, but she'd been fortunate enough to have two of the nicest of their kind befriend her. They cared for her deeply and had almost become surrogate parents, which made her extremely lucky. It made her special, unique and extraordinary. It was an honour, a privilege. Most definitely a gift, that she often classed as a blessing. Since they had become part of her life, she'd felt more alive and less lonely.  
Bizarre how the dead, seemed to make her feel alive. Perhaps it was due to her boundless interest in the supernatural, paranormal and macabre that made the friendship they shared so fulfilling. 

Yet still she was driven almost to the edge of insanity by a yearning. A deep longing that threatened to consume her. And whilst the Maitland's made her happier, much happier than she had been before having made their acquaintance, their presence still didn't serve to fill the empty void inside. She still romanticised from time to time about the notion of committing suicide. When the long days drew in after having been subjected to callous taunting from her peers, due to her refusal to conform to their uniformal ideal by fitting in. The dark thoughts would creep into her mind, making her feel like a completely useless outsider, and her loneliness and desire to be accepted and loved would become overwhelming. It was on such occasions as this, that the forbidden temptation to call his name was strongest. Each time she had to reason with herself that these feelings of despair were just fleeting, and the thought of him nothing more than a passing fancy. Nothing could ever drive her to such desperation. True enough, her mood would eventually lift, but to her dismay the urge to summon the unruly ghoul remained present, refusing to budge. 

He was under her skin and had she not been so reluctant to accept it and willing to wallow in denial she might've done something really drastic and foolish. Her logic dictated that to behave so recklessly would be unforgivable. Unleashing him would undoubtedly lead to disastrous consequences. Barbara and Adam would never forgive her, and remembering the way in which he'd terrorised her parents made her blood run cold. To betray them by unleashing that malevolent entity went against her principles and moral code. No matter how much she craved his company, to get to know him somehow and ask him the many questions she'd longed to ask. He wasn't the type of ghost you could conduct a civil conversation with anyway. So Lydia had resigned herself to being trapped in a never ending cycle of dreaming, pondering and then reproaching herself for even granting the self proclaimed "ghost with the most" entry into her thoughts. He was nothing more than an anomaly, an eccentric curiosity to her, who fuelled her vivid imagination and raging hormones.

In the end something was bound to give. Though she'd never have dreamt that he'd return. Chances are, he was most likely...dead...now. Could ghosts die? The handbook had mentioned exorcism being 'death for the dead' but he had been swallowed by that gigantic, nightmare inducing worm. How could he ever return? If he wasn't still languishing within the depths of it's stomach somewhere, why would he ever come back even if he were called? After such an ordeal, surely even he wasn't insane enough to come back into a house where every occupant, alive and dead, felt nothing except animosity towards him. Even she herself would have to feign hostility in order to not appear disloyal and hypocritical.  
Likewise, if he had been seeking vengeance then surely he'd have reappeared by now, but almost two years had passed without incident and any fear she'd initially felt had long since subsided. 

But it is a truth universally acknowledged that just as one begins to breath easy, after being lulled into a false sense of security, all hell breaks loose. 

Lydia Deetz's world was about to be turned upside down once again by the notorious Beetlejuice....and what made it all the more surprising to all concerned was the fact that it was her own unwitting actions which caused it to happen.....


	2. The Harsh Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia's dreams are about to come true, but that's not necessarily a good thing.

Patiently he had sat waiting. Silently seething but feigning indifference. Patience was not one of his strong points, but he had no alternative other than to wait his turn. The crowded waiting room growing increasingly busy, bordering on being claustrophobic. It was a good thing he was used to enclosed spaces, having spent plenty of time in the dark, dank, confines of his coffin.  
In truth, he would've actually preferred to be back there, rather than stuck here amongst a bunch of stiffs that he looked down upon with contempt. Each of them were reluctant to even make eye contact, let alone engage in conversation with him. Smirking to himself he revelled in their awkwardness, the way they squirmed when he invaded their personal space, provided him with some entertainment. But once he'd exhausted all the pranks he could pull on them, he was growing increasingly bored and agitated. 

And it was then he heard it. Just as he was losing the will to live his afterlife. A distant, muffled voice that seemed to cut through the noise of the bustling hellhole, yet it was still barely audible. And only audible to him, because it was his name.  
Like many higher level ghosts, Beetlejuice was able to hear voices if he concentrated hard enough. But it had been a very long time since he'd bothered to focus and 'tune in' as it were, to the incessant ramblings of dabblers in the occult, trying to make contact with spiritual entities via ouija boards or a séance. Only when his name was called did he pay any attention, for one reason and one reason only. It meant freedom, however brief. And dare he hope, a fresh opportunity to wreak havoc amongst the living. Confusion and surprise quickly gave way to curiosity as he listened intently, straining to hear as the soft voice resounded in his ears a second time. Leaning forward on the edge of his seat, he could barely contain his excitement as he willed the speaker to call his name one third and final time.....

               ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tossing and turning in her large, four poster bed, Lydia's sleep was fitful. Lost in her dreams, she writhed in twisted sheets as she slept. She was searching, searching for him. She had lost him. He had disappeared without a trace and she desperately needed to find him. Panic gripped her and her small hands balled into fists, clutching at the bedclothes until her knuckles showed white.   
She was lost now. Lost without him. Frantically she called out to him, her breathing growing increasingly hampered as his name, that unusual name, that forbidden name, came tumbling past her teeth, falling from her mouth without her even realising. 

And then all at once he was there. Right in front of her, as if he'd been there all along yet for some inexplicable reason she hadn't been able to see his familiar, yet unfamiliar face. He looked different somehow, and as he leaned forwards, until their noses were almost touching, the breath caught in her throat. And then he spoke, his guttural voice causing the small hairs to rise at the nape of her slender neck,  
"Honey....I'm home."

She felt the coolness of his breath against her face, which was enough to make her eyes snap open, and her to sit bolt-upright in the bed. Feeling startled by the incredibly real sensation, she heard herself screaming before she even realised what she was doing. Although it came out as more of a startled, eardrum-perforating shriek, it was still loud enough to wake the dead.....quite literally.  
Within a matter of moments the Maitland's were there. Calling out to her, voices filled with concern.  
"Lydia? Lydia is everything alright?"  
Barbara's voice rang out from behind the thick oak-panelled bedroom door.

Sucking in a deep breath, Lydia exhaled shakily. Taking a moment to compose herself before she responded,  
"It's okay Barbara, I just had a bad dream that's all." 

There was a brief pause before Barbara replied,  
"Are you sure sweetie? I can keep you company for a while if you want?"

"No honestly, it's fine. I'm going back to sleep now."

"Oh, okay."  
Came the reply,  
"You know where we are if you need us. Goodnight Lydia."

"Goodnight Barbara, and, um...thanks."

Sensing that she'd left, after having somehow managed to convince her that everything was fine, Lydia flopped back heavily against the pillows. Her nerves rattled, she wasn't convinced herself that she felt okay.  
What was wrong with her? Her dreams were now becoming even more realistic. Perhaps she should discuss all of this with Barbara in the morning. Even though the embarrassment would be crippling, she was beginning to feel like she needed to see a doctor or something. Maybe they'd be able to prescribe her sleeping pills, like the kind Delia swore by. Or maybe even a shrink. There must be something wrong with her, perhaps some form of therapy would rid her of this strange torment. But knowing deep down she wanted to cling on to these outlandish dreams, made her reluctant to talk about it to anyone.

Sighing heavily, her eyes drifted shut. And it was then she felt the oppressive presence. The feeling of not being alone, of being observed, and it caused goosebumps to rise on the bare, pale skin of her arms. Swallowing hard, instead of panicking this time she slowly prised open her eyelids. Apprehension and fear washing over her like a cold wave.  
Her eyes widened as they fell on him, and she couldn't prevent a gasp escaping her lips.  
There, at the bottom of the bed, leaning idly against her footboard, stood the tall, tattered figure of her tormentor.  
Still wearing the red tuxedo from the last time she'd actually...physically seen him...he looked even more dishevelled than usual. His dirty blonde, careless hair that was greying in places and tinged with green, stood out at all angles and appeared to be covered in dust. He looked slightly thinner, as though he'd lost weight. His previous paunch now barely visible at all beneath the suit which hung looser on his lean frame. 

So this was it, she'd finally lost the plot. He'd tipped her over the edge. All she needed now was a one-way ticket to a padded room.  
"You-you're not real."  
She insisted, with as much conviction as she could muster. 

His intense green eyes stared back at her from within their dark rimmed sockets, a devilish smirk tugging at the corner of his dry, purplish lips,  
"Oh yeah? Then how's a'bout I come over there and prove you wrong? Or come and have a feel, I dare ya',  
He moved towards her, and she instinctively attempted to jump from the bed. But in her haste and blind panic she ended up tumbling onto the floor.  
"Shucks babe. You falling for me all over again? Still you're only human after all. I have this effect on women."  
His tone, though slightly mocking, was breezy and the remark typical of him. Adding to her inexplicable humiliation as she hurriedly rose from the floor, desperate to regain her dignity. 

"W-what are you doing here? How did you come back?"  
She stammered nervously, painfully aware of only being dressed in a long oversized T.shirt. She absentmindedly tugged it down, ensuring her underwear was covered.

He was laughing now, a throaty laugh that ended in an abrupt snort, which she couldn't tell if it was intentional or not.  
"What am I doing here....well you see, that's an interesting question. 'Cause I have no fuckin' idea, being as you were the one that said the B words..." 

Blinking rapidly, she opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find her voice. He had to be lying. She hadn't summoned him, she would never do such a despicable thing. 

"So, I'm the one who should be askin' why you were saying my name in your sleep?"  
The clear look of bewilderment was evident on his ghoulish face. Proving that he was genuinely perplexed.  
"....oh and hey, do you know you sleep with your mouth open?"  
He continued distractedly, his lips curling into a sinful smile,  
"....I gotta tell ya, it's pretty fuckin' tempting." He made a rude gesture towards his crotch, for added emphasis. 

His lewd comment and actions resulted in a deep blush flushing her face, which felt as if it reached from the tips of her toes to the roots of her raven hair. Scrunching her nose up, in the hope of showing her disgust, she edged further away but found herself quite literally backed into a corner.  
"I, I don't know....I don't understand why I'd be talking in my sleep."

Shrugging nonchalantly, he suddenly sprung towards her. It seemed she'd barely blinked and he was looming above her. His movements so fast she didn't know how he got there and didn't even consider analysing it. He was so close she couldn't even think, all she could do was feel, as a bolt of exhilarated fear shot through her.  
"Well hey, I don't really give a shit to be honest. I'm here now, so it's a good time for you to uphold your end of the bargain. Wouldn't 'cha say babe?"

"Bargain?"  
She repeated, inadvertently breathing in his distinctly earthy scent which wasn't dissimilar to the smell of fresh rainfall on grass. 

"Uh, yeah. We had a deal remember? Of course you do, you're a bright kid. Now It's time to collect."  
His arms were either side of her now, his dirty hands resting against the wall. Trapping her.  
"I never did get to kiss the bride, being as we were so rudely interrupted." 

Her doe eyes rounded as his face came closer, and the sound of her own heartbeat thundered violently in her ears. So loud she felt certain he must've been able to hear it. He was going to kiss her. And for a moment she felt as if she might actually faint. Or die. And then she'd most definitely still be at his mercy. She couldn't allow this to happen. This was all wrong on so many levels. He wasn't even alive. And she felt sick to her stomach at the very thought of it, but even more so because somewhere deep inside she felt she actually wanted him to.  
His lips were mere millimetres from her's when suddenly her senses returned, and she found her voice.  
"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice..."  
She croaked without hesitation, her throat incredibly dry.

"Agh, fuck!"  
He managed to growl, before his form suddenly became hazy, and almost instantaneously dissolved into a trail of green smoke. Dispersing before her very eyes. 

Only once he'd disappeared did she allow herself to breath. She hadn't even realised she'd been holding her breath. Her entire body was trembling, and it took every ounce of strength to make it back to the bed without her knees buckling beneath her.  
An adrenalin fuelled sensation coursed through her veins. The relief was immense, but mingled with...something else...something she couldn't quite decipher. Regret? No. That couldn't be it. She physically shuddered at the thought. 

But her relief was short lived, as suddenly a strange scratching sound alerted her to look towards her vanity table. And there to her horror and confusion, the reflection of an extremely disgruntled looking Beetlejuice glared back at her from behind the mirror. Scraping a long, pointed fingernail along the opposite side of the glass, which appeared to serve as a barrier, he impaled her with his emerald orbs.  
"You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy you little bitch!"  
He spat, his voice dripping venom,  
"Nine fuckin' years I spent in that shit hole. You owe me. Big time....and I ain't goin' nowhere until you seal the deal."

There were no words to define the myriad of emotions she felt at his threatening proclamation. Fear, guilt, anger, confusion. She couldn't even begin to process them all. Most disturbing of all, was the fact that he had somehow become enchanted into her mirror. Just like in her dreams. Her mirror had been a portal between the worlds, and now here he was in the flesh...albeit rotting...inside her mirror. Surely that could not be a coincidence.  
"How did you get in there?"  
She demanded, ignoring his withering death stare. 

"I'm the ghost with the most, and I can pretty much do whatever the hell I want. I'm done with slumming it in that poxy model, I don't wanna be anywhere near that crazy ass, sandworm-riding bitch.."  
He growled, and the malice in his voice made her flinch,  
"..I got me a new place here, somewhere where I can keep an eye on you."  
To emphasise his point, or for the shock value, he raised his fingers to his left eye and popped it right from it's socket, then proceeded to throw it up in the air and catch it repeatedly with one hand.

Blanching at the sight, she made a face and attempted to ignore his gory display. Which took great effort.  
"You said you've been gone nine years, right? But it's only been two." 

"Yeah, in your time maybe. But it don't work the same when you're dead. They figure you've got an eternity to spare, sitting on your ass, wasting away. Well that ain't happening, you called, I came. I saved the stiffs up in the attic, now you gotta deliver what you promised." 

"What, marry you?"  
She cried, incredulously,  
"That's not going to happen..."

"It already has."  
He muttered, having now thankfully returned his eye to it's correct place, he appeared to lean against the frame of the mirror.

"What? What are you talking about? It didn't happen, the ceromony wasn't completed."

"Why? 'Cause some preacher missed out one damn word?"  
He snorted, as if amused by her naivety.  
"I gave you the ring, you took it...just because those interfering losers upstairs crashed the service, doesn't mean shit." 

Her mouth fell open and her dark brow furrowed in confusion,  
"So what exactly are you saying?" 

He grinned at her wolfishly now, displaying his crooked, discoloured teeth,  
"Jeez! I thought you were supposed to be smart? What d'ya want me to do, draw ya a picture? I'm saying whether you like it or not, that wedding took place and our contract is legally binding. We struck a deal, and yeah you and the Maitland's screwed me over but it doesn't change anything."  
Relishing her look of shock and disbelief, he conjured a bottle of beer seemingly from nowhere, and raised it with a triumphant nod of his head,  
"Happy anniversary darlin'....."


	3. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia struggles to come to terms with Beetlejuice's presence, as well as the effect he has on her. Whilst he himself begins working on a new strategy to win her over.

Barely having slept, Lydia's eyes were even more hampered with dark circles the following morning, which did not go unnoticed by the ever perceptive Barbara.  
"Are you feeling okay honey? You look exhausted. Did you manage to get back off to sleep after your nightmare?"  
She enquired, eyeing the young girl's face with keen interest.  
An action which made Lydia decidedly uncomfortable. She didn't like being under such scrutiny, and hiding the disturbing truth from the woman she was most close to, added to her unease. 

Muttering excuses about being under pressure at school, whilst insisting she felt much better now, she had made a quick exit in order to avoid any further questioning or discussion. But she wasn't sure how long she'd be able to put off the inevitable from happening. Barbara's self-censor was acute, and sooner or later she would pick up on something being amiss.  
Lydia was torn between disclosing her secret or keeping it to herself in order to spare the rest of the household from learning that not only had Beetlejuice returned, but it was her herself who had accidentally summoned him. That was a conversation she wasn't quite ready to have yet. She'd played it over and over in her mind, and her imagination ran riot. She could just picture Adam's horrified face, and Barbara shaking her head in disapproval just like she had done when....when Lydia had disclosed the truth about having had a boyfriend. 

That was another story in itself, and whilst the Maitland's had been supportive and offered words of sincere comfort, the atmosphere had also been extremely awkward and tense. She had no desire to go through that again, the 'talk' on respecting herself and choosing the right boy had made her squirm with embarrassment. Especially when Barbara went on to use such phrases as 'you're at an age where you're more aware of your body." And "it's natural to want to engage in certain acts of intimacy."  
It had been unbearable. Yet as bad as the boyfriend lecture had been, Lydia was sure the embarrassment she had felt then would pale in comparison to this. Just how exactly was she supposed to explain why she'd spoken that man's name in her sleep? It wasn't as if it was just any man, no. He was a dead man. A dead man who was an obnoxious, foul mouthed pervert. The same foul mouthed pervert that had tormented and harassed them in their own home. Yet she'd been dreaming of him. So for now she opted to remain quiet on the matter, hoping to preserve her dignity and protect them for as long as possible. 

It had crossed her mind that perhaps it had just been a bad dream. After he'd dropped the bombshell that was sure to be a lie, and brazenly wishing her "happy anniversary" his image had faded away, leaving her decidedly rattled and on edge to the extent where she'd remained awake for the remainder of the night. Fearful that he'd return to spy on her, or subject her to some horrific form of taunting or another, she wanted to remain guarded. But the night had passed by uneventful.  
When she'd dressed for school she draped a sheet over the mirror, out of caution. Given the disturbing sights she had seen since moving into this house, all of which were unsettling and the stuff of other people's nightmares, it was almost laughable that she found the thought of Beetlejuice leering at her as she changed her clothes, the most unnerving thing of all. But he hadn't at any point put in an appearance, which led her to believe that perhaps she had imagined the whole thing. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have been so quick to dismiss it as mere imagination but she had been questioning her own sanity lately. 

As she left for school, she felt slightly more at ease after having almost convinced herself that a shapeshifting ghost hadn't taken up residence inside of her bedroom mirror. Leaving her to ponder over whether or not she could request a straightjacket in black, once she was committed to a psychiatric institution....

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

 

Cursing to himself, he sat hunched over in the small area behind the mirror. Having chosen to create this relatively tiny crack in time to inhabit whilst in-between worlds, he wished that he'd had the forethought to choose some place with a little more leg room. But on the other hand, it had perhaps worked in his favour, being stuck in such a cramped area meant that the current plane he was existing on would be too small for Juno, or those above her, to detect. A slight ripple in an exceedingly large pond should go unnoticed. So it was worth the sacrifice. The last thing he wanted or needed was that old hag on his tail, spouting some red-tape bullshit and trying to keep him in the Neitherworld. 

But still, he was bored stiff, and would've shape-shifted into one in order to prove his point, had anyone been around to appreciate his talents. He was almost beginning to miss the graveyard in the Maitland's shitty model. As lame as it was, living in a fake replica of Winter River had it's benefits. At least there, he had the necessary room to conjure some entertainment for himself. And of course, not forgetting Dante's Inferno Room. That had definitely been a bonus. Even though it was created purposely to distract him by Juno, he smiled to himself at the memory. The old bat really did know him too well. His fleeting amusement at recalling the perks quickly passed as his mind began to wander. Yeah, he could do with a little action right now. Nine years was a long time to go without a woman. Even though his record stood at around the six hundred year mark, the long periods of celibacy was like a curse within itself for one blessed with an overactive libido like his.   
And the Deetz daughter just didn't cut it. He was already certain that she wasn't the kind of girl to put out, especially with a dead guy. No matter how irresistible he may be. He'd be willing to bet that was a weird kink even she would find way too creepy. Despite her decking herself out like a wannabe Bride of Dracula. 

Not that she wasn't attractive. Just because he was dead didn't mean she wouldn't set his pulse racing if he had one. She was pretty, dark and mysterious, he liked that. It made for a rather intoxicating combination. But he wasn't there to try and seduce her. Despite his sexual innuendo and playful advances. He just needed her to set him free by fulfilling her end of the bargain, and in order to do that she'd need to acknowledge and accept him as her husband. He realised now that was going to take time, a little cunning, quite possibly a vast amount of threatening and if all else failed...he'd have to resort to pleading. She seemed quite a sensitive type, begging might make her feel sorry for him. Or he could just bug the crap out of her until she cracked and agreed. Although, he might have to reconsider the whole threatening strategy. He couldn't draw too much attention to himself or have her running her mouth off to that bunch of pricks, living or dead. They were bound to get involved. They'd never approve of Edgar Alan Poe's daughter slumming it with him, in any sense of the word. After having suffered at the hands of the Maitland's meddling before, and witnessing the Deetz's chunky buddy botching an exorcism, he decided it safer to keep a low profile.  
Which would be easier said than done. What was called for was a change of tactics....

 

++++++++++++++++++++++

 

By the time Lydia arrived home her head was pounding. Wanting to reach the safe haven, and peaceful tranquility of her room, she actively avoided being seen by anyone in the house in order to forgo the usual questioning. Fortunately, her father wasn't home and Delia was otherwise preoccupied in her studio, no doubt sculpting some new monstrosity or another. 

Rifling through the bathroom cabinet in search of some painkillers, her eyes fell on the small bottle of Delia's prescribed medication. Valium. Taking them from the shelf, she scanned over the label, speed-reading the obligatory warnings and advice on the recommended amount to be taken, before slipping them into her blazer pocket. She made it into her room without being waylaid, her tired eyes drifting over to the vanity table and the sheet which still hung over the mirror. It was lucky for her, she thought, that her parents and the Maitland's respected her privacy, otherwise if any one of them had wandered into her room whilst she were out they would've found that suspicious.  
Cautiously she approached the mirror, with bated breath, grasping the sheet in her hand before pulling it off. Nothing. He wasn't there.  
She let out a small sigh, a strange mixture of relief tinged with slight disappointment swirled deep inside her stomach, making her feel almost nauseated. He'd either gone, or had never been there at all.  
Either way, she should be grateful, perhaps it was better to be mad than stuck with a madman. And a dead madman at that. 

Regardless of having a headache, she placed a cd into her stereo, for want of something to smooth her, then headed back over to the vanity, sitting down heavily as the first strains of the classical orchestra filled the room. Perhaps this wasn't the right choice of music after all, as beautiful as it was. She felt suddenly sad and lonely. Pulling the pills from her pocket, she rested an elbow on the table whilst rereading the bottle again but this time with more care. A Valium would calm her nerves and help her sleep, preferably a dreamless sleep....although an adventure with BJ would be a welcome distraction right now. But that was BJ, her Beetlejuice. Her companion. Her....delusion. And the fiendish figment of her imagination that had appeared last night was most definitely not him, or what she needed. And besides he wasn't here.  
Her head had been filled with nothing but thoughts of him all day, and she needed some respite. 

No sooner had she managed to convince herself that he most definitely wasn't around, she unscrewed the lid of the pill bottle, when his gravelly voice suddenly spoke out from behind the mirror.  
"So, what'cha think you're doin' there kid?"

She let out a squeal of surprise and jumped, sending the pills scattering across the surface of the table.  
He was back, and looking incredibly real.  
Dressed in the same distinctive robe he'd been wearing the first time they'd ever met, with it's black and silver squared pattern, the silver of which bore more than just a passing resemblance to snakeskin, he stood before her in the mirror, a cigarette dangling casually from the corner of his mouth.  
"You. You almost gave me a heart attack!"  
She gasped, placing a hand to her chest, feeling her erratic heartbeat beneath her blouse. 

"Yeah, well. At least that'd be death by natural causes...d'ya have any idea what happens to breathers who commit harry carry? You don't wanna know, that's all I'm saying. So come on, get a grip. It can't be all that bad, being hitched to the most eligible bachelor since-"

"Valentino..."  
She cut him off abruptly, forcing a smile in spite of herself,  
"...you've said that before." 

"Alright smart ass. So I reuse the best lines, just 'cause you can remember some shit I said two fuckin' years back, it's kinda been a bit longer for me, so sue me. And good luck with that 'by the way, I was a deadbeat even before I became dead. But you catch my drift, right? Why would you wanna do a dumbass thing like toppin' yourself? You know....you're young, pretty, smart, I bet you've got a great ass, and even greater husband I might add."

"You really think I'm pretty?"  
She asked before she could stop herself. Even allowing the remark about her ass to slide. 

He shrugged now, shoving his hands deep into his pockets,  
"Well, sure....I guess you're not John Merrick ugly...so covering your mirror is a bit drastic."

"You knew I'd covered the mirror?"

"No, lucky guess."  
He drawled, his voice heavily tinged with sarcasm,  
"Of course I knew, my suspicions were first aroused when I looked out and couldn't see shit. You really know how to hurt a guy's feelings, you could've at least given me a free show. You know, to compensate for my lack of conjugal rights." 

She bit on her bottom lip hard now to suppress a giggle. He really was course and crass and undeniably dangerous but from a safe distance, knowing that he couldn't cause anyone any harm, he was proving to be almost tolerable.  
Similar to his dream counterpart, he somehow possessed the ability to make her smile. There had to be something wrong with her. She was seeing him in a different light. Was he showing a different side to his personality? Did he even have a, dare she think it....gentler side? Behind the vulgarity and bravado, he almost seemed to care for a moment.  
"You really are....real."  
She muttered the thought aloud, causing him to heave a loud, over exasperated sigh.

"Okay that conversation's getting fuckin' old, but now we've established the fact that you're not hallucinating or something, can we like, you know, move on now? And quit with the feeling sorry for yourself shit."

"I wasn't going to kill myself, okay?"  
She insisted, defensively,  
"I'm just tired and wanted to sleep without...well, without worrying about some perverted poltergeist groping me."  
She faltered slightly.

He let out a throaty chuckle, and affixed her with his glistening eyes. She could see the mischief dancing in them.  
"Can't make no promises baby."  
He drawled, and then he winked at her.  
And it was back, that strange unsettling feeling deep inside.  
She knew then, that she really was in trouble....


	4. Spooky Action At A Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia's inquisitive nature leads to an entertaining and enlightening encounter when Beetlejuice humours her by agreeing to answer just one or two of her many questions.  
> But what will he ask in return, and what will they learn?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just wanted to give a big shout out to SelenaWolf, JoyCrux, Rosie and Karen for taking the time to leave comments and kudos. As well as any other guests who have been reading this and left kudos, you guys are all awesome! I can't thank you enough for your support and encouragement. It's what compels me to keep writing. 
> 
> I always wanted to write a BJ/Lydia fic, and I wanted to put a different slant on things to some of the other (fantastic) stories that are out there. I appreciate everyone's patience, I know Beetlejuice's vocabulary is very 'wordy' so I apologise if the conversation seems long and drawn out but I wanted to try and portray him as close to his character as possible. He's complex and there's more to him than what he seems, so you will see glimmers of a softer side but by no means is he going to morph into some romantic Romeo over night. Nope, not on my watch. As for Lydia, she's very angsty so is experiencing a lot of conflicting emotions. I hope you all don't mind joining her for the ride as she works through them all. There's going to be more plot development from here on in. They'll be more on Lydia's personal life, and revelations about Beetlejuice's background. Somewhere amidst all of this they're trying to come to terms with being married and getting to know each other.  
> I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it....despite Beetlejuice's ramblings. Lol xD  
> Also, I will point out that I write these chapters between 3:00am and 6:00am, having not slept so I apologise in advance for any misspellings and poor grammar. I'm just pretty much half asleep whilst writing. My bad. 
> 
> *Big love*

Seated at the far end of the dining table, Lydia absentmindedly pushed her food around her plate, occasionally spearing the odd prawn with her fork, chewing it just once or twice before hastily swallowing.  
Delia's timing really couldn't have been any worse, usually she didn't even bother to serve dinner unless they were expecting guests, but she'd chosen today of all days to insist on eating together as a family. Today, when she had finally managed to strike up something that resembled a coherent conversation with her new, yet old, ghostly inhabitant. She'd contemplated faking sickness in order to avoid having to leave her room but decided against it. That would've only caused Barbara to fuss over her more, and right now that wasn't an option. She wanted to get to know Beetlejuice. The real Beetlejuice. It was evident he didn't plan on leaving anytime soon, so she figured it wouldn't do any harm to keep talking to him whilst she still had the chance. 

However disgusting he may be, he actually intrigued her. And surely there was no shame in that. So why was she feeling so appalled with herself? The nagging voice of reason at the back of her mind returned as she rose from the table, filling her with doubt and dread. Accusing her of behaving like a stereotypical adolescent with a crush, and scolding her for keeping dangerous secrets.  
Shuddering, she hastily mumbled excuses about being too tired to eat. Unable to resist any longer. She had to get back to her room. To him. She admittedly thought, defeated. She had to get back to him. 

"Are you alright pumpkin?"  
Charles Deetz asked, amidst a mouthful of seafood paella.

"Yeah, fine dad. Just tired."  
She replied, keeping her tone as even and breezy as possible. 

"But you've hardly touched your dinner Lydia."  
Her stepmother piped up, as if pointing out the obvious was necessary. The woman had a knack for doing that.

"I'm sorry Delia, I'm just totally beat. Can you please save me some, so I can warm it up later if I'm hungry?" 

"Of course dear."  
She beamed, immediately brightening. Appeased by Lydia's well thought out response. It never failed. 

"Thanks."  
She smiled warmly,  
"Goodnight, love you." 

Racing up the stairs, she didn't even wait around for their response, such was her incessant need to talk further with her glorified roommate whilst she still had the opportunity. His mind was like a bag of cats, who knew where he went and what he was doing when he wasn't in her mirror. And she wanted to try and pin him down in the hopes of getting him to answer a few of the questions she'd longed to ask since their first meeting. And now there were even more. Indeed they were fast piling up into a veritable stack.  
As she reached the landing, she met with Adam. His kind, open and honest face smiling down at her, succeeded in making her feel more dishonest and unappreciative than ever.  
"Whoa there! Someone's in a hurry. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry Adam, just tired you know. Didn't sleep too well last night."  
She admitted truthfully, but she couldn't help fidgeting awkwardly with the collar of her school blazer. Something she always did when feeling nervous. 

Fortunately for her though, Adam was not nearly as perceptive, or familiar with her traits as Barbara was.  
"Yes Barbara mentioned that you'd had a bad dream. I dare say it wasn't due to watching too many horror movies."  
He joked, patting her gently on the forearm as she sidestepped around him.

Laughing, she halted in order to afford him the attention he deserved. That both he and his wife deserved. The couple had been so kind to her, yet here she was running around after the one who was least worthy of her time. Once again she was struck by the bitter realisation that she was a traitor. She was practically harbouring the one guilty of causing them all so much upset, which made her a guilty party too.  
"Hey Adam, listen....I just wanna say..."  
She faltered slightly, feeling suddenly quite choked with emotion,  
"...I mean, I probably don't say it often enough, but I want you to know that I love you guys, and thanks for always being there for me."

Slightly taken aback, Adam shot her a broad smile. His dazzling white teeth a stark contrast to...well...the other dead guy. God she was sick of her mind continuously being drawn back to him. Perhaps he'd taken control of her mind or something. She wouldn't put it passed him, and no doubt he was powerful enough. 

"Aww, shucks Lydia. What's brought all this on? We'll always be here for you."  
His gentle voice pulled her focus back.

She shrugged, and for want of something better to say simply spoke honestly,  
"Just feeling stereotypically emotional. But I'm fine. Will you wish Barbara goodnight for me, and tell her I'll see her tomorrow?"

"Sure sweetie."  
He promised, with his usual trademark nod of the head.

They bid each other goodnight, Adam making his way back towards the attic stairs, leaving Lydia to enter her bedroom.  
It had grown dark outside now, making her room look gloomy in the half light. The cd had long since finished playing, an eerie silence had descended, and the noise created by every movement she made, seemed magnified.  
"Are you there?"  
She called out, as quietly as possible. Painfully aware of her own volume.  
As she expected, he wasn't there awaiting her return. Still, why would he be? She tried again, this time with more conviction,  
"Where are you?"  
Still nothing. 

Slowly she went over to her table and lit some candles, their warm glow immediately casting long shadows which danced across her mauve coloured walls.  
So, time to outsmart the ghost with the most. She knew he'd be able to hear her calling his name, and she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be able to resist responding to it.  
Purposely positioning herself away from the mirror, she slipped off her navy blazer, and tossed it onto her bed, feigning irritation,  
"Damn it Beetlejuice....you're never around when I want you." 

No sooner had the words left her mouth, and he was there. Even without turning around she felt his ominous presence, and the sensation of his eyes burning into her back.  
"Oh I'm right here babe. Just say the magic B words two more times...c'mon, c'mon just say it. Twice more and I can come out and play. You know you want to. You and me could have a lot of fun together."  
He growled excitedly from the confines of the glass. 

Fighting to keep her face impassive, she turned to face him. Still dressed in his robe, though it had fallen open slightly at the top revealing the ghastly white skin and trail of green moss which climbed down his neck and along his collarbone. She'd never seen him look quite so underdressed before, and she couldn't help wondering whether or not he'd been somewhere engaging in...well, whatever perverse carnal pursuits he engaged in.  
"Where were you?"  
She asked, sounding every bit like the nagging wife. And she momentarily hated herself for it. 

His aged brow furrowed into a deep, confused frown,  
"What? Sorry you'll have to repeat that, think I've got a little mould in my ears or somethin' cause for a minute there I thought you just asked me where I was...what, you wanna play wifey now?"

"No!"  
She snapped, bristling perceptibly,  
"I just wondered that's all. Like, where do you go? Where can you go? You're really powerful and stuff, you must be able to do amazing things..."  
She was allowing her imagination to run away with her now, growing increasingly excitable as she spoke. Firing a relentless stream of questions at him before giving him enough time to answer any.  
"....where did you get your powers from? Did they develop over time? So you've been dead a while I guess, how did you die?" 

"Hey! Hey!"  
He yelled, startling her into silence. His face now a mask of fury, his green eyes flecked with yellow, seemed to glow with anger.  
"What is this twenty fuckin' questions? You said you wanted me, what for an interrogation? Give me a break." 

"Sorry, I guess I was curious that's all."  
She managed in a small voice,  
"I didn't mean to be insensitive. I'm sorry. I'm just interested-"

"Yeah well there are some questions that you just don't fuckin' ask a dead guy, okay?!"  
He cut her off sharply, gesturing wildly with his hands, even more so than usual.  
"You call it being curious, I call it being fuckin' nosy, so how's about showing a little goddamned respect!"  
His tirade came to a close, and for an awful moment she thought she might cry. But she managed to keep it together, with great effort and concentration.

He was pacing back and forth, his agitation increasing with every step, whilst muttering all kinds of expletives under his breath. Until he glanced up and caught the look of deep remorse and sadness on her pretty, young face. Shit. There was something in those big brown, expressive eyes that quite unexpectedly made him melt on the inside. As much as it alarmed him, it became apparent that had he been a couple of hundred years younger, he'd have been a complete sucker for those hazel eyes and China doll face.  
Is this what he had been reduced to? A higher level poltergeist that still possessed greater power than any of his kind, reduced to a pitiful schmuck by a mere girl.  
"Look, kid, enough already. Don't give me that Bambi-watching-his-mother-being-shot-and-tied-to-the-back-of-a-truck look. You're breakin' my heart...Listen how's about you get me outta here and then we can talk and whatever. I'll answer your questions, but you know it feels all impersonal, me being stuck over here and stuff, so how's about it, huh?" 

Noticing the way in which his previous rage had dissipated rapidly, her own feelings of regret waned slightly.  
"Nice try, but I'm not falling for it."  
She answered flatly, folding her arms defensively across her chest.  
But to her surprise he nodded, as if quietly admiring her decision to decline his offer.

"Okay, okay....new proposition, I answer a couple of your questions, but you gotta answer a couple of mine. Can't say fairer than that, right?"  
He smiled crookedly, extending his arms as if to emphasise his point. 

"What, and you'll answer them truthfully? No tricks, no lies?"

"Sure, sure...cross my heart and swear to die."

She shot him a bemused look,  
"That counts for nothing being as you're already dead. Seriously, do you swear?"

"Every damn day."  
He retorted dryly, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Stop it!"  
She warned, trying to sound firm but failing miserably. She was sure he'd detect the smile audible in her voice.

"Okay fine. I swear....you got a bible? Maybe a slab of stone I can carve my signature into? I would say I'd write it in blood but, kinda runnin' on empty these days." 

Pulling the chair out, she sat at the table facing him, feelings of apprehension clawing at her insides. But as he conjured a chair in order to mimic her actions, the tension slowly began ebbing away.  
"Kinda feels like being visited in the pen."  
He remarked flippantly, then went on to cast one of his illusions, transforming his black and silver robe into an orange prison jumpsuit. Complete with a phone affixed to the side of a wall that previously hadn't been there.  
She watched in awe as he lifted it from the receiver and nodded towards her, indicating for her to follow his lead. It was then she noticed the identical phone, now hovering beside her in mid air.  
Obligingly she lifted it to her ear. 

"Talk dirty to me honey."  
His voice whispered hoarsely into the phone, rendering her almost completely helpless with laughter. 

"Oh my god!"  
She practically guffawed, trying to regain her composure and avoid a fit of hysterics. 

"Husband actually, but for you darlin', I'll be anythin' you want me to be. Hell, I'm pretty much a god in the sack anyway. But let's just keep that between ourselves okay? Don't want word gettin' out. I blush easily."  
He continued, seemingly on a roll. 

"Stop..."  
She begged, wiping away a stray tear due to having laughed so hard, she indicated towards the phone,  
"This is amazing! How can you do stuff like this from behind there?"

"Does this count as one of your questions?"

She blinked rapidly, contemplating this for a moment.  
"Um, no."

"Then I ain't tellin' ya." 

"Okay..."  
She thought long and hard. Her small features scrunched in concentration,  
"Is your name...you know, your real name?" 

"Yeah."  
He replied without hesitation,  
"That the best you got? 'Cause I was kinda expecting something a little more heavy. And if you're thinkin' of asking where such a crazy name came from, I really wouldn't bother. It'll only bore you to tears. But hey it's your choice, so shoot..." 

"Alright....you know how you seem to think we're married..."  
She ventured cautiously, hoping to keep her voice from wavering.

He leaned further forwards now in his chair expectantly,  
"Well it's a little bit more than think, we are married babe. There's no doubt about it. And the sooner you accept it, the better it's going to work out for the both of us." 

She swallowed hard, feeling her face begin to flush hot,  
"Well, if that's the case then....what do you want? What do you still need from me?"

His twisted grin widened, and for some reason even though she was fully dressed, his half-hooded eyes felt as though he'd just stripped her bare. Such was the intensity of his gaze, and her blush deepened further.  
"I thought you'd never ask...."  
He hissed into her ear, his voice sending shivers along her spine.  
"....You need to be willing to have me. Only then will the deal be sealed."

The breath hitched in her throat, and the phone almost slipped from her hand.  
"Willing to have you?"  
She spluttered,  
"Like how? What does that even mean?"

Producing a cigarette and a single match from the top pocket of his jumpsuit, he brought his leg up, striking the match on the sole of his heavy black boot.  
"I gotta level with you on this one. I have no fuckin' clue. But I'm workin' on figuring it out. Until then, look at it as a marriage of inconvenience. I'm your awfully wedded husband. As soon as I got an answer for ya, we can do whatever needs to be done and then I'm gone. Outta your hair, for good. Just don't go blabbing to your buddies the Maitland's, otherwise it could mean a whole world of trouble for you and me. Okay?" 

Nodding dumbly, Lydia wouldn't have been able to reply even if she wanted to. Her mouth had gone incredibly dry, as though she'd just swallowed a sachet of silicone. 

"Now, my turn.."  
He laughed devilishly, and leaned forward once again.  
She didn't know what to expect, but nothing could've prepared her for his next words, which floored her completely,  
"Why did you say my name in your sleep?"

That was it, the phone receiver actually did fall from her grasp, slipping to the floor like a scene from a movie.  
"Thought so.."  
His voice rang out from the floor, as she fumbled clumsily to retrieve it. 

"Thought what? Whatever it is you're wrong, I haven't even answered yet."  
She objected most vehemently.

"I thought you might've known why you'd say it. And you pretty much just proved me right. Now all you gotta do is tell me why." 

Clutching the receiver unnecessarily tightly in her hand now, she screwed her eyes tightly shut. Blocking out his amused face. She'd have taken immense pleasure in slapping him at the moment.  
"Please....please don't make me do this."

"Pfft. Please."  
He snorted indignantly,  
"Sorry but I'm all out of sympathy. You already managed to get outta the last deal we made, you ain't worming your way out of this one kid....c'mon how bad can it be? If you've been having downright dirty dreams about yours truly, there ain't no shame in that. Apart from it being a shame that it's just fantasy, but hey we can maybe work on making them a reality..."  
His voice trailed off as he noticed the mortified expression she now bore. Tilting his head to one side, he registered her embarrassment and had to choke back a shocked gasp.  
"Well....shit."  
Was all he could muster, as the realisation that she had in fact been dreaming about him, hit him like a ten ton truck. 

"They weren't dirty."  
She supplied finally after a very lengthy, awkward pause. Pulling her face to express her distaste.  
"We were kind of just friends, who had the best time together." 

He was staring at her askance now, and having him look at her in a way that implied she'd lost her mind, made her feel even more ridiculous. What right after all, did he of all people, have to question her state of mind?  
"I'm not in control of my dreams."  
She added hurriedly in her defence,  
"And it's your haunting here that messed with my head. I would've seen a shrink but they'd have packed me off to a mental hospital the minute I mentioned the fact that I see dead people."

His silence was unnerving her now, and she was practically squirming in her seat, rambling like an incompetent idiot.  
"It was most probably just coincidence, or emotional trauma, or-"

"Spooky action at a distance."  
He muttered as if to himself, and suddenly he was on his feet, the phone illusions gone, along with his jumpsuit. In it's place was the almost legendary black and white, monochrome striped suit. Slightly looser on him now, but still just as striking. 

"W-what did you say?"  
She asked, once she'd recovered from seeing him in the suit which seemed to have a very strange affect on her. 

"Page 831, chapter 115 paragraph 9."  
He rambled, distractedly pulling his dirty sleeve up to reveal no less than four watches adorning his left wrist.

"Why do you wear four watches?"  
She asked, her curiosity refusing to wane despite the abrupt and sudden change in his behaviour.  
His reaction to her confession was most worrisome, and she was hoping he'd supply her with an explanation without her having to push for one.  
But this was Beetlejuice after all, so no such luck. 

"Sorry babe, question time's over. Gotta split."

"You've not asked your other question yet."  
She pointed out, without knowing why. Subconsciously she was stalling, hoping that his sudden sense of urgency to leave wasn't a sign of danger or impending doom. It never hurt to be prepared for the worst where he was concerned. She'd learnt this from her dealings with both his real and dream counterpart. 

"Oh don't you worry, I won't forget. You can owe it me."

"So you...you'll be coming back?"  
She asked, not daring to analyse the fear and hope she was experiencing. Afraid to death that he'd answer no, and hoping with every fibre of her being that he'd answer yes. His presence should not, could not, possibly mean that much to her. Yet it did. 

"Of course I am. Like I said, I ain't goin' nowhere. You don't get rid of me that easy. I'll be back before you know it. Sorry to disappoint ya." 

And then he was gone. Leaving his last words echoing around the room and inside her head.

If only he knew....


	5. Don't you feel like crying?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice pays a visit to someone who he believes can help him, but he's gone longer than expected.  
> Returning to find an emotionally fragile Lydia, he's surprised by a revelation regarding her private life, as well as the unexplained affect he seems to have on her whilst attempting to lift her spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim Burton, whilst pitching the role of Beetlejuice to Michael Keaton, stated that Beetlejuice "exits in all times and spaces." I interpreted a possible reference to this when I noticed the four watches the character wears on his wrist. Also, the sandworms featured in the film inhabit Saturn, which also implies the possibility of the dead being able to travel through different dimensions and/or galaxies. Beetlejuice himself shares his name with the star, which makes up Orion's Belt, along with several other stars, including one called Bellatrix. Without delving in to too much detail, in this chapter I attempted to pay homage to all of the above by exploring Beetlejuice's abilities to exist on other planes, which also sets the stage for his back story. Who or indeed what is he? And does he have any relatives?  
> Also this chapter features two pieces of music, neither of which I own the rights to (as nor do I own any of the characters in this story) the title is a nod towards one of the songs, "Cry To Me." By Solomon Burke. The other is "Lucia di Lammermoor 'Regnava nel silenzio" and is the same piece of music that Lydia plays in the movie.  
> I highly recommend giving both pieces a listen, as they set the tone of the scene they're featured in here. Like the movie soundtrack, I want to include musical references which I think make a good backdrop to the story.
> 
> Also, I'm going to apologise in advance for any of Beetlejuice's dialogue which may cause offence. It isn't intentional, I'm just trying to remain true to his personality.
> 
> As usual, HUGE shout out to all of you who have left comments/kudos. You guys rawk! Seriously. Let's just hope I haven't blown it all now with this latest instalment (I kid thee not, I'm genuinely nervous)  
> So without further ado, I hope you all enjoy this longer chapter (to make up for the delay) and please, be gentle. I'm stepping into uncharted territory here....

Blinded by the dazzling blue light, Beetlejuice cursed under his breath and used his 'juice' to conjure a pair of black, close fitting, wraparound sunglasses in order to shield his vision from the celestial, ultraviolet rays that poured in through the oversized windows of the long, winding corridor.  
Striding purposefully towards the door, his heavily booted footsteps bounced off the blank walls, shattering the peaceful silence, attracting several disapproving looks.  
"Okay, so who's balls have i gotta fondle to get a bit of helpful information around here, huh?"  
He growled at no one in particular.  
Approaching the double fronted doors of the Atlas offices, he ignored the group of humanoid creatures that scurried passed him. The fear visible in their crystal blue eyes. To this quiet, peaceful race he was an anomaly, with his wild hair, deathly face and attention grabbing striped suit. They on the other hand, all looked the same with their flawless white skin and long white hair, dressed in their floor length blue, tunic frocks. They flowed by, moving in unison like clones on an unseen current, merging into an ocean of identical faces. 

"Fuckin' Pleiadians."  
He muttered, as he crashed through the doors unceremoniously,  
"Can't tell who are the chicks and who's got dicks." 

His brash entrance startled a nearby office worker. The figure, who's gender appeared to be neutral, rose anxiously from the chair, apparently eager to offer help despite being obviously intimidated.  
"May I be of any assistance, sir?" 

Dragging on his cigarette, Beetlejuice leaned forward to read the clerk's name tag, which resulted in the androgynous being leaning away nervously.  
"I highly doubt it, uh...how d'ya pronounce that?...Wait scratch that, I ain't got time for chit-chat bub, I'm lookin' for Bella. Please, please for the love of God, whichever one take your pick, tell me she still works here? Otherwise I've wasted my precious time and upset a shitload of pen pushers upstairs for 'nuthin." 

"Indeed you have."  
Came an almost sing-song, distinctly female voice from behind him,  
"They've already been on the phone, threatening to call security."

Ensuring his trademark impish grin was firmly in place, he whirled around, throwing his arms open wide.  
"Bella! Ain't you a sight for sore eyes. How the hell have ya been? Get over here.."  
Enveloping the dark blonde, petite woman in his arms, he scooped her up with ease and swung her around, causing her to squeal with delight. 

"Beetlejuice. I've missed you. But can you please for once, not call me that? I've asked you at least two hundred times to call me by my name."  
She giggled as he set her back down, and she thwacked him playfully on the arm.

"Yeah, and for the two hundredth time I'm going to have to ignore ya. Can't break the habit of a lifetime, so why start trying now?"

"Because my name is Bellatrix....I don't call you Beetle do I? So don't call me Bella." 

"You can call me whatever you want, as many times as you want. That's about the only thing this boring fuckin' place has goin' for it."  
He smirked, exhaling a large plume of smoke which hung in the air between them. 

"The Pleiades are a tranquil, serene place. You know this. If you abhor it here so much then why, pray tell, are you here? Polluting the atmosphere with your cancer sticks."  
She chided, her face showing disapproval but there was no malice in her voice. 

"Yeah well, it ain't as if smoking's gonna kill me, is it? Working here, now that would. I'd die a second time from fuckin' boredom. How the hell d'ya stand it? Tell me again why you decided to slum it here?" 

Still smiling, Bellatrix affixed him with her sparkling green eyes,  
"You're stalling. I know you. This isn't a social visit is it? What's wrong?"

"Hey, don't play the guilt trip card on me. You know I'd come see ya more often, but d'ya have any idea how hard it is, traveling between worlds, forgetting which ones I've been banished from, which ones have a warrant out on me? And don't get me started on customs, and all the packing I gotta do, cancelling the grocery order, finding a house sitter and shit...I tell ya' it's a goddamn nightmare." 

Laughing now, the pretty woman shook her head,  
"You never change Beetlejuice. That's one of your strongest qualities, despite it being both a blessing and a curse."

"Now don't go all preachy on my ass, or start babbling all of that "born of the golden ray of incarnation and evolution' bullshit...I've heard it all before and I ain't interested."  
Flicking the butt of his cigarette away, oblivious and unconcerned about where it may land, he took a step towards her,  
"Listen, I really need a favour Bella. I already tried upstairs, thought I might be able to bribe old Nebula, didn't know he'd emigrated. God knows how he managed that. Anyway you're my only hope, being the secretary here and all that jazz, I figured you might be able to check somethin' out for me." 

Indicating towards a private side room, she gestured for him to follow.  
"So, what and who, am I checking out?"  
She asked, closing the door behind them so as not to be overheard.

"The 'who' is a breather, she's called Lydia Deetz. American, around sixteen-isn I think. Currently slumming it in good old Connecticut, New England." 

"That's helpful."  
She remarked facetiously, as she took a pen from the stainless steel desk, and hurriedly began scribbling in a notebook.  
"No details regarding date and place of birth?"

"No, why the hell would I know that?"  
He fired back grumpily, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

"And the 'what'?"

Reaching up, he scratched the back of his neck with a pointed fingernail. A knee-jerk reaction of his when he felt uncomfortable about something. Which wasn't often. And he didn't like the feeling one bit.  
"The 'what' is a possible case of spooky action at a distance." 

Her head snapped up at his proclamation and she abruptly ceased writing.  
"She's experiencing symptoms of quantum entanglement? In relation to....you?"

Hearing the words spoken out-loud made him feel even more uncomfortable, and he shuffled his feet in agitation. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other.  
"I dunno, I ain't sure. She's had some dream bridging by the sounds of it, and I just wanna be sure there ain't some weird creepy messed up shit goin' on. Otherwise I'm gonna have to bail my ass out of there." 

"Have you discussed this with Juno?"

Snorting loudly, he spun in a circle on his heel, unable to contain the agitation he felt upon hearing the name of his ex work colleague.  
"Agh...give me a break, the last thing I need is that old bat twistin' my balls. She's already gonna be seriously pissed that I ain't in the waiting room where I should be. If she finds out I've gone back to an old haunt to collect on a deal she'll flip her shit." 

"Beetlejuice...Juno won't be nearly as angry with you for associating yourself with the living, as Sirius will be if he finds out that you're involved with someone who may possibly be one of us-"

"One of you."  
He corrected, scathingly,  
"I ain't no fuckin' over-recycled old soul or star baby. In the real world that's the kinda shit Bowie sings about. Which is all good, I can roll with that, but I know what I am. I'm a regular guy that died. Just 'cause the old juice is stronger than the average ghoul's, doesn't mean I'm cut from the same cloth as you, fuckin' Sirius, or-"

"Lydia Deetz?"  
Bellatrix now interrupted, shooting him a meaningful look,  
"If she's connected with you spiritually somehow she could be another indigo child. What is she like? Is she creative? Sensitive? Prone to fits of depression? Does she often feel alone, as though she doesn't fit in? Does she refuse to conform? And she must be psychically gifted I presume?"

"Alright, alright, enough already!"  
He grumbled, raking his long fingers through his unruly mane of hair.  
"I get the point. But I gotta be honest Bella, I don't even know the chick that well. Just have a dig around, see if her names' on the system. If there's a file on her then she must've been around before, in which case see who the hell she was. Knowing my luck, probably some big ol' hairy-assed biker, with a bigger dick than mine."

"What do you mean, knowing your luck? Just what is this girl to you Beetlejuice?"  
She asked inquisitively, her face suddenly lighting up with excitement.  
"Do you think she could be your soul mate?"

"Oh please. Like I believe in that old bunch of crap."  
He scoffed, irritably. This was all getting a little too ridiculous and intense for his liking. He hadn't stopped to overanalyse the possibilities of Lydia being someone he'd perhaps known in a time lived before. Or that she could be one of the whimsically named 'star children'. It had been a long time since he'd last read the Handbook, even though he'd poured over that particular chapter many times after first entering the Neitherworld. At first he found the entire concept of certain souls being handpicked by the powers that be from all areas of the Universe, and then sent to be born on earth in specific bodies, almost laughable.  
Until he'd discovered his own abilities. The power that allowed him to exist in all times and on all planes, unlike the majority of other regular ghosts who were restricted to the Neitherworld, or the home they'd inhabited whilst living. 

His case worker, Juno must've recognised his potential, or rather what a potential threat he was, and quickly promoted him to her assistant. But with great power comes great irresponsibility, he regularly got into trouble due to his prank-playing, and soon grew weary of being stuck paying his penance as a civil servant for the remainder of his afterlife. So he'd done the unthinkable and cut loose. Which had in turn resulted in the curse being placed on him. Yeah. That. The small matter of his name.  
Beetlegeuse.  
Named after one of the brightest stars in the night sky, just like Bellatrix had been. But unlike him, she hadn't been labelled as 'corrupt'. She'd lived a good, wholesome life, and after having died of natural causes, had been able and willing to take up residence in what she considered to be her 'spiritual' home.  
He on the other hand had died under different circumstances, and his behaviour and character were totally at odds with what was expected of a supposedly exceptionally special, and gifted spirit.

The curse had been well thought out. Rendering him unable to even speak his own name, and even if he wrote it down it had to be written with the original spelling. That was the catch. Barely anyone had ever been able to pronounce it phonetically correct, so rarely was he called upon outside of the spiritual realm, And then as if that wasn't bad enough, it had to be said three times, which meant if repeated again he could be transported back, dismissed as easily as that and imprisoned between worlds. It was a cruel twist him being able to dwell once called, on the fringes of the land of the living, but denied access to roam free as he wanted. He felt like some kind of accessory for dabblers in the occult. A pocket demon. A glorified genie or djinn. Bastards. 

But he'd done his homework, and the years working in the Neitherworld offices hadn't been completely wasted. He'd found a loophole, one that at first he had dismissed as an impossibility but mentally shelved the knowledge, should ever the opportunity present itself. That knowledge being if the space between worlds could be bridged through marriage, that would render any curse, spell or hex null and void.  
From the moment he'd first set eyes on Lydia Deetz he knew she'd be the perfect candidate. But now he was beginning to question his methods. Emotionally railroading her into marrying him evidently hadn't been effective. She'd agreed under duress and then attempted to renege. But the contract was legally binding...within the Neitherworld at least. Things were just proving to be less straightforward than he'd first expected or hoped. Her denial, and reluctance to accept him as her better half meant the curse still stood, so he would need to remedy that in order to bring his plan to full fruition. Now he'd been given a second chance, he wasn't going to blow it. He'd turn up the charm and work on winning her trust. Sooner or later, perhaps she would warm to the idea of having a demonic ghost as a husband. 

Suddenly he was overwhelmed with the need to be away from this foreign, plane. He needed to get back. Back to Earth, and more importantly back to her. Yes protecting his own back, ensuring there weren't any other strange forces at work here, was a necessity but he was wasting precious time. Time that could be better served working on Lydia.  
Moving brusquely, he reached for the door handle, refusing to dwell on any conflicting and confusing thoughts that rattled around inside his head, colliding with each other like ball bearings.  
"Look, I gotta go chica. If you find anything on the girl get a message to me, alright?"

"How?"

"You'll think of somethin', be creative. Use your imagination. I have faith in ya." 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Kneeling on the floor of her room, Lydia reached underneath her bed, her fingers grasping blindly for the miniature wooden chest jewellery box that she'd owned since childhood. At last her hand fell on it and she pulled it out, blowing the dust from it's lid before carefully opening it.  
And there it was. Amidst the skull earrings, black choker necklaces and hair pins, it sat twinkling in the purple velveteen lined corner. A small gold ring. The wedding band he'd forced on her finger two years ago. She swallowed, remembering that fateful night. The way she'd been so afraid of him and his ability to bend reality in such a spectacular way. Had the situation been less scary and stressful, she might've been thinking more clearly, and she would've no doubt marvelled at the magic he possessed. But she was younger, and fearful. Compared to the Maitland's, Beetlejuice was a demon. Convinced that he was going to drag her off to hell, or whatever their afterlife equivalent was, she almost wept with relief when both Adam and Barbara persisted in trying to halt proceedings. 

But after that hideous sandworm crashed through the ceiling, swallowing him whole as it smashed it's way through the floor, disappearing back into the portal, she'd felt a slight twinge of remorse as she stood looking on helplessly. He'd seemed so utterly terrified, in spite of how powerful he was.  
Not understanding why she should pity him, she quickly shrugged it off. And in the days that followed she'd succeeded in putting the whole horrible affair to the back of her mind. She'd started a new school, and had other things to focus on.  
Then Delia had insisted she dispose of the red wedding gown, backed up by Barbara who suggested they burn it, and the uneasiness had returned. She had actually really liked the dress, but neither her parents or the Maitland's were willing to allow her to keep it, so in order not to avoid making a fuss, she'd agreed. However the ring, she had kept. Without even knowing why. She'd hidden it away in a place where no one would find it, like a macabre souvenir. 

Now as she held it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, examining it closely, the temptation to put it on was almost unbearable. He'd been gone almost two weeks now. And on the grand scale of things that wasn't really a long time, but she was beginning to doubt whether or not he would return. Yes he'd given his word, but that wasn't worth much.  
Perhaps she ought to be grateful and consider his absence a blessing in disguise, after all she was certain that by associating with the likes of a self proclaimed 'bio-exorcist' could only end one way....badly. But her curiosity had been piqued, she had achieved what she'd previously considered to be the unachievable by striking up relatively civil conversations with him. So far he hadn't posed any threat or caused any harm. She wanted him to come back, she wanted more. Much more. He was almost addictive, and he was becoming an unhealthy obsession. She'd moped about awaiting his return and every night, whilst staring into the mirror she halfheartedly promised herself that she would stop. But she couldn't stop. And now, she'd been reduced to this...actually contemplating putting the ring on, in order to feel close to him again. After talking herself in and out of doing it several times, she eventually reached a compromise by placing it on the ring finger of her right hand. Then she felt like an idiot. He most likely wasn't coming back, and she really shouldn't care less. 

Leaning forward on her hands and knees she shoved the box back under her bed for want of somewhere else to put it, and huffed loudly.  
And that was how he found her, as his reflection suddenly materialised in the mirror.  
Oblivious to his presence this time due to being distracted, she almost jumped out of her own skin when he wolf whistled loudly.  
Whirling around on the floor, her shock was quickly replaced by embarrassment when she took in the way he stood, leaning to one side, craning his neck to get a better view of her behind. 

"Whew-ee...now that's what I call a room with a view. One I could get used to!"  
He rasped, leering openly at her.  
"How's about you do that again, and just forget I'm here? Oh and maybe lose the panties, or is that askin' too much? Ah go on, make a dead guy happy." 

Scrambling to her feet, she tugged her black nightshirt down awkwardly and affixed him with her most withering stare.  
"You...I've been waiting for you.."

"Yeah? On all fours with your ass in the air? Shit, looks like my luck is starting to change....hurry up and say the magic words then. You know my name baby, wear it out. I got somethin' good for ya."  
He crooned, moving his eyebrows suggestively, and her face turned scarlet. 

"You're a pervert."

"You say that like it's a bad thing.."

"You said you'd be back, I didn't expect you to be gone for two weeks!"  
She whined, suddenly conscious of feeling like a control freak with separation issues.

"Two weeks, huh?"  
He quickly glanced down at one of his watches, and made a face.  
"Who knew? I sure as hell didn't, you kinda lose track of what time zone you're in. It's a real drag." 

Her doe eyes widened in wonder, sparkling with excitement.  
"Time zones? So that's what the watches are for. I get it now." 

"Say the B words and you'll get it alright.." 

"Will you just stop, and tell me where you've been? I thought something might be wrong when you left in such a hurry." 

Readjusting his sleeve, Beetlejuice dusted himself down casually, feigning nonchalance.  
"Nothin' wrong. I just remembered somethin' important I had to do. You know, I left the stove on...and had to walk the dog. I don't have a dog but I thought fuck it, I'll walk one anyway."

Lydia sighed heavily and shook her head. He really was the most complex and exasperating individual she'd ever known. Any hopes of getting to the bottom of his comings and goings were quashed in that instant.  
She was just about to speak when suddenly there came a knock at her bedroom door, startling her yet again. 

"Lydia, sweetie?"  
Barbara's voice echoed through the oak panels.  
"Have you got a minute?"

Raising a finger to her lips, Lydia's panic subsided slightly as he mouthed "I got this" and his reflection faded away, allowing her to open the door, albeit still hesitantly. Her nerves were becoming increasingly frayed.  
"Hey Barbara."  
She smiled thinly, sucking in a deep breath whilst desperately attempting to seem utterly at ease. She opened the door wider, as a gesture for her ghostly friend to enter.

"Is everything okay hon? I thought I heard voices." 

"Um, no. I mean yes..everything's good, thanks. But no voices. Unless it was the TV you heard."  
She stammered, not quite able to hold her gaze. Lydia hated lying to Barbara, the woman was so good natured and caring, it felt so wrong. 

"Oh, okaaay."  
She responded, sounding sceptical. Much to Lydia's alarm.  
"Listen I didn't want to bring this up again, but I know you've been down these past couple of weeks. There's nothing going on is there? You know I'm here if you need to talk about anything." 

Forcing a strained laugh, Lydia shot a nervous sideways look towards the mirror. To her relief all was still as it should be, nice and normal and and spectre free.  
"Thanks Barbara, that means a lot. But honestly I'm fine."  
'Honestly'...it was a wonder she didn't choke on the word. She was a miserable, dirty liar and she despised herself.

"As long as you're sure honey."  
Barbara was now saying, seemingly unconvinced.  
"It's nothing to do with Brett is it?"  
She asked, looking at her almost apologetically.

Lydia's stomach dropped then, as though she'd just swallowed a lead weight. No, no no. She screamed internally. Why was Barbara bringing this up now? Of all times. As if she'd still be upset over that jerk.  
"Ugh, no. Not at all. I'm fine and everything's fine. I promise."  
Her false promise almost caught in her throat and made her gag. Or perhaps it was the mention of Brett's name again. Either way, she hadn't meant to say that, but she really wanted Barbara to leave her be now.  
Shooting another glance at the mirror, she felt small beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Was he actually gone? Or could he still hear? She closed her eyes in dread, and silently prayed that he wasn't hearing this. 

Apparently sensing Lydia's tension, Barbara took this is a sign to withdraw. No doubt assuming she was in fact upset now due to her broaching this rather sensitive subject with her. Raking over old wounds hadn't been her intention. And the regret was visible on her face.  
"Sorry Lydia, I just had to ask. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt again."  
When Lydia didn't respond, she lovingly placed a kiss to her forehead, bid her goodnight and left. Leaving her stood with her back against the door. Unwilling to move or make a sound. 

"Did you hear that?"  
She asked shakily, already knowing in her heart of hearts what the answer would be. Damn. 

"Nope, didn't hear a word....who's Brett?"  
Beetlejuice's gravelly voice, laden with sarcasm, filled the room as he materialised, clutching what appeared to be a nail file. And her focus was momentarily drawn to his actions. Was he actually filing his nails into points?

"I don't wanna talk about it."  
She mumbled pathetically.

"Ah, well that's too bad because I do."  
He persisted, with a twisted smirk.  
"You still owe me a question, remember. So who's Brett? Your boyfriend?" 

She perceptibly flinched and turned her face away, an action which caused him to chuckle manically.  
"Man I get tired of being right. What sort of name is Brett anyway? Kinda makes me think of some blond, curtain-fringed surfer dude with pecs the size of his ego. Gotta say I wouldn't have had you down for bein' into that type of shit. And let's be honest, I can't picture you running in slow motion down a beach in a red swimsuit." 

"What?"  
She snapped suddenly, his last remark unexpectedly stinging as if she'd been slapped in the face. Not that she should care about his opinion.  
"What's that supposed to mean? What because I'm not blonde and big breasted I can't be considered attractive, is that it? That's typically shallow of you I suppose."

He stared at her hard, his tainted brow frowning slightly in bewilderment.  
"No. Did I say you needed inflatable tits and a bottle of peroxide to be hot? Fuck me, why so touchy? Is it because that's what your boyfriend thought? Did he trade you in for some tanned prom queen? A blue-eyed cheerleader?" 

She glared daggers at him now, and he couldn't resist taunting her further. So, she was fiery. He liked that. Her large eyes looked undeniably sexy when glistening with rage, and he felt an alarming sensation stirring somewhere deep within his loins. Holy hell. Something was seriously wrong here. He'd definitely been too long without a woman.  
"No need to be pissed at me. I'm the one who should be pissed, I just found out my wife's been screwin' around with other guys."

"Oh yeah like you've not sleazed around with dozens of women."  
She shot back, rising to his immature jibes.  
"It's a good thing you're already dead, otherwise you'd need to get tested." 

"Ouch!"  
He cried, clutching his stomach and doubling over in mock pain,  
"Low fuckin' blow. But there ain't been no one since we got hitched babe. I ain't cheated on you." 

Raising her arms, she couldn't refrain from balling her hands into fists and clutching at her hair in frustration.  
"Cheated? Oh my god! I can't believe I'm having this conversation. You're, you're a ghost, we can't be married. And even if it was possible, I wasn't to know." 

"So you did, you know...screw him then?"  
He ploughed on remorselessly, tucking the nail file into the top pocket of his jacket.  
"Well as long as you save a piece for me, I suppose I can forgive ya'."

A heavy silence followed, and when he looked up and registered her look or disgust mingled with contempt he realised with a jolt that she wasn't as pure and innocent as he'd first imagined. She had slept with the boy in question, her expressive face and lengthy pause spoke volumes. And whilst he would've previously sworn that he couldn't have given a rats' ass about her extracurricular activities, he suddenly felt almost quite winded. As if he'd been punched in the gut.  
"Are there any more I should know about?"  
He found himself asking next, in spite of himself.

"What?"

"You heard me. Any other guys? I gotta ask, I need to know what type of chick I'm hitched up to. For all I know you could be like some repressed nymphomaniac. Hell, you could get spit-roasted by the football team under the bleachers every lunch hour...you do keep secrets after all-"

"Screw you!"  
She interjected sharply, and to her horror she felt her eyes begin to brim with tears. 

"Maybe, if you get lucky."  
He fired back, and then he saw the shimmering tears which threatened to spill at any moment.  
"Wow, wait a second. You do know I was messin' with ya, right? No need to turn on the waterworks."

"Just shut up, okay? Shut up."  
She cried, turning away abruptly.  
"I don't want to talk anymore....I just want to be left alone."

Suddenly remembering what the Maitland woman had said in reference to not wanting to see Lydia get hurt again, Beetlejuice leaned forward against the mirror.  
"Was I right, about the guy? Did he dump ya'?"

"Ugh, you're so insensitive.."  
Came the somewhat strained reply.  
"I said I don't want to talk about it. Can you not just go away!"

Heaving an exasperated sigh, he folded his arms across his chest.  
"You want me to go away, what so you can cry over the asshole in private?"

"I can't hear you."  
She remarked childishly, and to make a point she headed over to her stereo and put on her classical music CD.  
Infuriated at herself for becoming emotional in front of the likes of him, she was doubly angry with him for managing to reduce her to tears. He'd hit a raw nerve, flinging herself down on her bed, facing away from the mirror she carefully arranged her nightshirt so as not to inadvertently flash her underwear. 

"Look kid, I'm sorry alright?"  
His unexpected and somewhat unwilling apology surprised her, but then he incensed her further by continuing to open his big mouth.  
"Hormones, right? It's an age thing. Or is it that time of the month?"

Intent on ignoring him, she buried her face into the pillow and attempted to focus on the track that was playing...Lucia di Lammermoor 'Regnava nel silenzio'. And all that did was make the tears flow faster. Much to her eternal shame. 

For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't quite bring himself to leave. Watching her shoulders shake gently as she silently sobbed into her pillow tugged at his brittle heart. He may be dead, and he undoubtedly lacked tact but he wasn't completely without feeling. He knew he should perhaps do her bidding and afford her some privacy, but that wasn't his style. Besides, he was making a mess of things. He needed to fix this, and fix it fast.  
"You know, this music might be classy and all..."  
He piped up, quietly hoping he wasn't going to make matters worse.  
"But it's enough to make anybody cry."

Concentrating, he channelled his psychic energy and focused on the stereo, causing it to suddenly fall silent, and then in place of the sad operatic ballad, a rhythmic, 1960s southern soul tune began beating from the speakers. Lydia stirred, and he smiled to himself, satisfied. Now all he had to do was wait and gauge her reaction. ..

'When your baby, leaves you all alone. And nobody, calls you on the phone. Don't you feel like crying, oh don't you feel like crying..'

Lydia sat up, listening with interest. She liked the sound of the song, it was a mixture of gospel, rhythm and blues and country. But was he mocking her? The thought made her blood boil, but then just as she was considering giving him a piece of her mind, she faltered upon hearing the next lines..  
'...well here I am honey, come on. Cry to me....'

Slowly she turned to look over her shoulder, painfully aware of her tear streaked face. But the sight of him absentmindedly swaying to the beat of the music, and miming along over-dramatically made her smile, and temporarily forget.  
His twinkling eyes met with her teary ones, and for the first time ever she dared to hold his gaze. Ignoring the familiar heat that crept along her neck up to her cheeks, she found herself moving towards him, transfixed by the intensity of the look in his emerald orbs, coupled with the lyrics to the song...  
'...Loneliness, loneliness, is such a waste of time..'  
The voice rang out, with heartfelt passion..  
'....you don't ever have to walk alone, you see. Come on take my hand, oh baby won't you walk with me?'

She edged closer to the mirror, feeling very self conscious she chanced a small smile, which he took as a seal of approval. And forgiveness. He ceased his miming. There was a distinct and sudden change in atmosphere which didn't go unnoticed by him. Yes he'd succeeded in making her smile again, which had been his goal. But something else was happening, something he hadn't expected. And he wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not. Perhaps the music was impairing his judgement, because she couldn't possibly be looking at him in the way he thought she was...  
'....When you're waiting, for a voice to come. In the night, but there's no one...don't you feel like crying..'  
The song continued, and she drew nearer...suddenly placing a small, trembling hand against the glass.  
He blinked, and instinctively reacted by bringing his own, notably larger, hand up on the opposite side, resting it against the reflection of her's. 

Her heart thudded frantically against her rib cage, and for a moment she thought she might melt into a puddle on the floor. What was wrong with her? Alarm bells were sounding in her ears, but the sound of them, along with the music began to fade away as she stared into his eyes. Those uninhibited eyes that seemed to hold all the mysteries of the universe.  
Similarly, he'd long since stopped listening to anything but the sound of her breathing. He could hear it even through the glass that separated them. And then there was one other sound. Which came unexpectedly. One that made his senses tingle, and caused a surge of barely controllable excitement to course through his veins.  
Her voice...

"Beetlejuice..."  
She whispered, exhaling shakily before taking a much needed deep breath.  
"Beetlejuice...." 

His fingernails involuntarily curved, clawing into the barrier. He was holding his own breath, the anticipation driving him to the brink of insanity. 

She opened her mouth to say it one final time...when all at once her bedroom door flew open, and Lydia recoiled away from the mirror as though she'd been scolded. 

"Lydia, can you please turn that dreadful music off? It's getting late, some of us are trying to sleep."  
Delia Deetz, dressed in her nightgown, looking suitably disgruntled stood framed in the doorway. 

She needn't have worried. The intrusion had caught Beetlejuice off guard, and his concentration lapsed, causing the music to come to a scratching halt. Hastily he'd faded away, so that when Lydia, looking decidedly panic stricken, looked his way, she saw nothing but her own flustered reflection.  
And it was a good thing too, as the sight wasn't pretty. Pulling at his face with unnecessary force, he contorted his features into a disfigured, hideous fright to behold. Consumed by frustration, his language was equally appalling. He so badly wanted to reappear and scare the living shit out of that irritating, interfering bitch. But he somehow managed to reign in his temper. He couldn't risk being discovered. It would most certainly ruin everything.  
Yes he could afford to wait a little longer, another opportunity would soon present itself.  
Especially given the unexpected turn of events, which had changed the game entirely...


	6. Rebel Without A Pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia has a strange request for Beetlejuice, and he attempts to work the situation to his advantage. But as the pair spend more time together they're both pleasantly surprised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I kind of used a couple of references from the animated series in this chapter. Only minor ones such as Lydia wanting to photograph Beetlejuice, a couple of bad puns, and the character Claire Brewster. She's the only one who'll be making an appearance, so no dancing spiders or French skeletons will be featured here (sorry guys) but I want to keep it predominately movie-themed, given what's to follow. I don't want to cross the streams and ruin anyone's childhood.  
> So, it's a bit fluffy (maybe) but I felt this was necessary before....well, other stuff... *coughs* 
> 
> Songs featured are "Earth Angel" By Marvin Berry and the Starlighters, and "You Never Can Tell" aka The Teenage Wedding Song by Chuck Berry.  
> As before, I don't own the music or the characters (if only)
> 
> Big shoutout to all you lovely lovely people who've left comments/kudos. And thank you all for taking the time to read my work. You're awesome xD

The following day seemed to pass by in a blur for Lydia.  
Simply going through the motions, she'd sat listlessly through classes, resting her chin on her hand, staring out of the window. The teachers' voices were nothing more than background noise. Usually she would have paid more attention but she was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Only when her art teacher reminded her that her project was due to be handed in, did she realise just how preoccupied she'd been of late. Under normal circumstances she would've had it completed by now, being as art was one of her most favourite subjects. But she had completely forgotten about it. Her head was full of him, and there didn't seem to be space for anything else anymore. He'd never been all that far from her thoughts before, but since his return, his presence in her mind had rapidly increased and evidently was spiralling out of control.  
She had almost released him. She'd been so close, had it not been for Delia having burst in when she had, then who knows what fresh hell she might've unleashed. 

There was no doubt that she hadn't been thinking clearly. Confusion and upset had clouded her judgement. Struggling with feelings of guilt due to keeping such dark secrets from Barbara and Adam, was starting to take its toll. His insensitive remarks, and the mentioning of her ex boyfriend had tipped her over the edge. She still felt foolish for acting like a silly self-absorbed, melodramatic, hormone imbalanced little girl. Especially in front of him, of all people. But he'd made her smile, and all the loneliness and hurt no longer seemed to matter when he was around. But that was the problem. She shouldn't enjoy his company, the more she had the more she wanted, and that frightened her. This wasn't her dreams, this was reality. She'd given herself a good hard talking to en route to school that morning, attracting a number of curious glances along the way from passers by. Sealing her reputation for being the 'weird kid fom up on the hill' as she muttered to herself absentmindedly.  
However, her mind drifted once more into disturbing territory as she drew comparisons between the levitating, mischievous prankster of her dreams and the pidgin speaking, depraved miscreant she had to tolerate in real life. He wasn't a harmless lovable rogue, he was wild and dangerous. And despite her having seen glimmers of his less manic, more coherent side, the sense of the untamed lay just barely suppressed below the surface. He was an oddity, and it was this, his glorious complexity that she was attracted to.

When at last the school bell sounded at Miss Shannon's school for girls, she grabbed her books and satchel and raced for the door without so much as a backwards glance. An action which surprised her classmates, rarely did she show such eagerness to be away, and her uncharacteristic actions attracted the attention of the class prima donna, and her one-time love rival, Claire Brewster. The exceptionally pretty blonde, with sun kissed skin, always seemed to go out of her way to give Lydia a hard time, and today was no exception. Making a point of catching up with Lydia outside, and ensuring her clique were in tow in order to appreciate her put-downs, Claire wasted no time in trying to provoke her as usual.  
"Lydia, you're in a hurry today. Anyone would think you like, actually had a life or something." 

Absorbed in unchaining her bike, Lydia didn't even bother looking up from the task in hand.  
"Well I do. Maybe you should try getting one too Claire. And a personality wouldn't go amiss either." 

Visibly perplexed, Claire floofed out her billowing, golden hair.  
"Oh please. I'm the most popular girl in school. In fact, I have a date tonight....with Brett."

Lydia stiffened slightly, but kept her expression as impassive as possible.  
"Yeah? Thats great."  
She dead-panned,  
"You guys are well suited. Having so much in common and everything. The conversation must be so stimulating, I'll bet those long winter evenings must simply fly by."  
She shot her a look and registered the way in which she stared back at her blankly.  
Her sarcasm was wasted on the ignoramus. Rolling her eyes, she began walking away, wheeling her bike alongside her.

But Claire was persistent when it came to having the last word. Regardless of how senseless it was.  
"Yeah, well...it's not as if anyone would go on a date with you, except for Frankenstein or some werewolf maybe."

Throwing her bag over her shoulder, Lydia paused momentarily. She knew these exchanges were immature and completely pointless. And as insults went, this one had to be one of the lamest attempts she'd heard to date. She wasn't going to bother dignifying her with a response, when a sudden thought crossed her mind which made her smile wryly,  
"Victor Frankenstein was actually the scientist, not the monster. But my date is far freakier and wilder than any tired, overplayed cliché...and that's just the way I like it." 

And with that she rode away, leaving a stunned Claire staring after her, for once apparently lost for words. 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Barbara honey, could you please pass me that small brush?"  
Adam called out, gesturing towards the table.  
He was in the final throes of adding the finishing touches to the miniature replica of the new library that had recently been built in town. And was so absorbed in his work, he didn't notice the sudden ripple of the surrounding atmosphere in the attic.  
Barbara, engrossed in a book hadn't noticed either, and when she set it down and rose from the sofa in order to fetch the brush, she was suddenly startled by the figure of Juno appearing in her path.  
"Juno, you scared me."  
She gasped, clasping a hand to her chest,  
"Why are you here? What have we done wrong now?"

"Nothing, for a change."  
The small, elderly woman replied as she began slowly walking around the room, admiring the decor and furniture,  
"You didn't sense my arrival though did you? I shouldn't have startled you...still, apart from your lack of sensory skills I see everything seems quite settled here, you've adjusted to your new house sharing arrangement."

"Yes it's all worked out pretty well I'd say."  
Adam interjected, rising from his seat at the new workbench,  
"Charles Deetz is actually rather a nice guy, and Delia..."  
He paused momentarily before continuing,  
"...well Delia's Delia, but she's tolerable once you get used to her." 

"And the daughter?"  
Juno asked, turning slowly to face them both,  
"How's she these days? Not still suicidal I hope..even though we're understaffed , I doubt she'd make a suitable addition to the office. She'd soon know what real depression is."

Adam and Barbara exchanged looks,  
"No, she's doing great."  
Barbara answered, with a nervous smile.  
"So is something wrong? Because we know how precious your time is, why would you be paying us a home visit?"

"Oh I'm sure there's nothing wrong Barbara.."  
Adam placed his arm around his wife's shoulder tenderly,  
"..you've dropped in on us to see how we're doing, right?"

Barbara shot him a sceptical look. She admired his optimism and wished she could share it, but Juno wasn't responding and this made her uneasy. 

"We've all read through the manual.."  
Adam added helpfully, hoping to impress their case worker by demonstrating their commitment. He did not want her thinking that they were behaving irresponsibly in any way.  
"..the 'Living and the Dead' one, the guide to harmonious lifestyles and peaceful co-existence."

Waving her hand dismissively, Juno began pacing the room again.  
"I'm not here to lecture you. If you've managed to somehow work through your differences and reach a compromise with the Deetz's, then I'm very happy for you both." 

Choosing to ignore the dry sarcasm and cynicism in her voice, Barbara took a step towards her. Her loose, chestnut curls framing her worried face.  
"Then what are you here for Juno? There must be something."

"You're right. I'm here to warn you-"

"Warn us about what?"

"Well if you stop interrupting and let me speak I can tell you."  
She ranted, puffing on her cigarette and exhaling the smoke out through the unsightly gash in her throat.  
"Has there been any trouble? Anything happening out of the ordinary?"

"No.  
Adam assured her,  
"Why? What's this about?"

Juno ceased her pacing, turning to look at them again. Her expression grave.  
"He's been brought back."  
She whispered, noticeably conscious of being overheard.

"He?"  
Adam gulped. And he would have paled had it been possible, he certainly could've sworn he felt the colour drain from his face.  
"You mean, Beetle-"

"Sssshush!"  
Juno hissed, raising her hand to silence him,  
"You still haven't learnt yet have you? Don't speak his name even once, he hears it!"

"How can he be back?"  
Barbara demanded,  
"The sandworm ate him, we all saw it happen, there's no way he could have survived that."

"Swallowed not ate, and aren't you forgetting something? He's dead. You can't die twice, not technically anyway...you still haven't studied the handbook have you?"  
She chided accusingly, growing visibly agitated.  
"Only exorcism is guaranteed to get rid of a spirit. And he isn't your average ghost. You can't afford to ever underestimate him."

Barbara gripped onto Adam's arm nervously,  
"So what is he going to do? Seek revenge on us, on me?"

"How should I know what he's planning on doing? I don't have telepathic powers, I can't read his mind. He's batshit crazy, that makes him unpredictable."

"Well you must know something?"  
Adam pressed her, not even attempting to hide the desperation in his voice.  
"Otherwise you wouldn't have known he'd been brought back. And who would do that? Who's brought him back?"

"Look, calm down. Don't over-excite yourself. When I said back, it doesn't mean literally here. All I know is somebody let him out, he should've been in reception after the sandworm incident, and the only way he could've got out was by being called."

"So you don't know where he is?"  
Barbara asked, growing increasingly more nervous by the second.

"If I did then I wouldn't be here."  
Juno snapped.  
"That's why you need to be on your guard, have your wits about you. Use your senses. Work on developing your psychic abilities. If you feel his presence, or there's any signs of a disturbance you need to be prepared."

"Why would he come back here though? If he did I'm sure he'd be as subtle as a wrecking ball.."  
Adam pointed out.  
"....I can imagine he'd be pissed off about what happened, so I doubt we'd miss his presence."

Juno took another step forward, and an ominous sense of foreboding seemed to descend upon the room.  
"Don't underestimate him. That's what I keep telling you. Aren't you listening? If he comes back, it may not be to wreak havoc or seek vengeance. Try not to be so melodramatic, there's more than one way to settle a score, if that's what he wants. He might not even come back here, if he had any sense he wouldn't. Unless there was a valid reason." 

Suddenly a thought crossed Barbara's mind, filling her with dread as the realisation dawned.  
"Adam.."  
She all but whispered,  
"You don't think he'd come back for Lydia?" 

"Oh I wouldn't underestimate her either..."  
Juno remarked casually, as she puffed away on her cigarette,  
"As I've always said....never trust the living." 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++

 

"So, let me just repeat this out loud one more time, so I can get it straight in my head...you wanna take my photograph?"  
He drawled, raising a pointed eyebrow in amusement.

Fidgeting slightly under the weight of his heavy gaze, Lydia was crippled with embarrassment but stood her ground. She was painfully aware of how ridiculous her request sounded, but nevertheless, she'd asked now and wasn't prepared to back down.  
"I've already explained, I'm all out of ideas on what to do for my art project. I need to come up with something fast, and I think you'd make a rather..interesting...subject." 

Stood leaning idly against the frame, his hands buried inside his pockets, Beetlejuice grinned at her mischievously. His scheming mind automatically cranking into overdrive.  
"Is that so? Well uh, you see the thing is I'd love to help you out kid, I really would but in order to do that, I gotta be over there....you can't take my picture from here."

"But you said you can pretty much do anything. Shouldn't you be able to make yourself visible through the glass? You made yourself visible to my family even when they didn't believe. They couldn't see Adam and Barbara but they saw you."

"Yeah only 'cause I scared the bejesus outta them. Which don't alter the fact you won't be able to take a mugshot of me through the mirror. It's got nothin' to do with the glass, it's the geographical perimeter."  
He retorted, before suddenly hocking up and spitting off to the side, out of her view.  
Which she was thankful for.

"You're so gross."  
She blanched, turning her face away in disgust.

"Thanks honey, you're too sweet to me."

"Being told you're repulsive isn't a compliment."

"So why do ya wanna take my picture then, huh?"  
He cackled,  
"Listen I know we like, had a bit of a moment last night, or whatever the hell that was, ya know bonding over loneliness and shit. I'm dead, you wanna be dead sometimes...we have stuff in common, right? You have a soul, I am one, I think we relate to each other on some fucked up level. So hey, if you dig me babe, then just say. No need to be all shy about it."

"What? Ugh, no!"  
She cried, blushing ferociously, horrified by his bluntness.  
"All I wanted was to take your photograph. I'm actually being lazy. I'd use the picture to do a drawing of you...but I can always sketch you from here, then the mirror won't be a problem."  
She smiled triumphantly, and began rifling through her drawer. Searching for her sketchbook. 

"So you want me to pose for ya now? In case you hadn't noticed I ain't exactly portrait material. Unless you want still life, you know, buck ass nude. Now that, I can do."

"Don't you dare!"  
She warned, shooting him a disapproving look, half expecting to see him stripped of his clothes. But to her relief he remained fully dressed. She honestly didn't think she could handle the sight of him naked. It would probably be enough to put her in her own grave.

"Well if you're expecting me to sit still for you then you're gonna be sorely disappointed. I'm kinda hyperactive, too much sugar in my diet, and I have this problem with my circulation. I gotta keep moving around otherwise the old rigor mortis might set in."  
He rambled, swinging his arms and kicking his legs animatedly,  
"But, if you get me out of here, then you can take as many photographs as you want. I've done photoshoots before, underwear modelling, that sort of thing. You'll find me easy to work with. Any position you want me in, I can do it babe...I'm very flexible."  
Turning around, he twisted his upper body so it was back to front. 

She clasped her hand to her mouth, as she watched him lift the back of his jacket in order to inspect his lower body from this different angle.  
"Hmm, never noticed before what a great ass I have."

She tried in vain to stop herself, but couldn't refrain from giggling.

"So, are you gonna say the B words or what? C'mon, I'm begging here. I need you, only you can....straighten me out."  
He gestured towards his twisted torso. Which earned him a less than impressed look from her.

"Your attempts to try and trick me into letting you loose are as lame as your puns."

His expression darkened and for a moment she thought she'd overstepped the mark by sassing him. Twisting himself back into shape, he conjured an already lit cigarette, and took a long drag on it whilst eyeing her steadily.  
"Okay smart ass. How's about you just give me a chance? I'm being straight with ya, just let me out so you can take your damn photograph, then I'll let you send me back. You ought'a know by now I don't back out on a deal. I've not let you down before have I? I helped the Maitland's like you asked, and I answered your dumb ass questions the other day, so you know you can trust me but hell, I really wanna prove it to ya. 'Cause I'm a nice guy like that."

Every ounce of sense and reason she possessed rapidly began evaporating under the heat of his gaze. She felt as if he were silently challenging her, throwing down a gauntlet and testing her mettle to see whether or not she dared to accept. Despite his many flaws, he was right, he hadn't even attempted to back out of any of the other deals he'd struck with her before. And if worse came to the worse, she could always hurriedly say his name three times and send him back. If he tried removing her teeth or sealing her mouth shut, then surely he had the sense to know that she would most definitely never acknowledge their supposed marriage, which he seemed to believe in so much. It was then she was struck with the startling realisation that she held the upper hand because he really did need her. And this put a whole new slant on things. 

He watched with growing interest, detecting her resistance beginning to wane. This was his perfect opportunity. Sure the temptation to run amok would be difficult to resist, but resist he would. As pathetic as it was, having to resort to helping out a schoolgirl with her homework, this particular schoolgirl happened to be his wife. And in order to make use of that fact he was going to have to play nice. As much as the notion appalled him. He shuddered to think what this would do to his reputation, but it'd be worth the suffering in the long run. Especially given the small matter of the way she'd been looking at him last night. He had yet to get to the bottom of that, maybe he'd merely imagined seeing something there that hadn't really been there. But this would be a fine time to find out. 

Standing at the foot of her bed, she blinked at him nervously,  
"If I do this, do you promise not to start any trouble, and to behave?"

"Scouts' honour."

"You're no scout"

"I'm not honourable either but let's just wing it, shall we?"  
He winked at her, and she took this to be as close to a promise as she was going to get. 

Feeling undeniably vulnerable, she clutched onto the bedpost for support, swallowing hard before uttering the inevitable...  
"Beetlejuice....Beetlejuice..."

Looking almost smug now, he stood waiting expectantly. All traces of impatience and desperation were gone. He was self assured, his posture oozing confidence and his grin widened with a sickening level of self satisfaction.

"....Beetlejuice....."

A sudden flash of lighting outside her window caught her off guard, making her jump, and he let out a burst of manic laughter.  
His movements were too quick to register, and all at once she found herself being tilted backwards slightly, cradled in his arms. She barely managed a small squeal of protest, as he suddenly pressed his lips against her's, kissing her deeply. Rendered incapable of any coherent thought, she struggled against him for only the briefest of moments until she realised that any resistance was futile. But then suddenly he'd broken away, leaving her to fall from his arms, and luckily for her he'd had the forethought to position her over the bed. Not that she'd seen or felt him do it, which added to the shock when she fell back against the soft mattress like a rag doll. 

"Now that, was worth waiting for. Wouldn't ya say babe?"  
He was saying, taking another drag on his cigarette whilst his glittering eyes scanned the room.  
"I'd be willing to bet we've broke some kind of record there, two fuckin' years married, well nine for me, and I only just got to sample the goods." 

Sitting up slowly, Lydia absentmindedly brought the back of her hand up to her mouth. His lips hadn't felt wet, or disgusting, and he hadn't left any traces of mould or slobber behind. But her mind was reeling from the knowledge she'd just been kissed by a ghost. A ghost that felt, and indeed was, incredibly real. Even though it hadn't lasted any longer than a few seconds, his passion and ferocity had surprised her, leaving her stomach turning somersaults. She would've expected him to be the type to try and force his tongue down her throat, possibly quite literally, so that was definitely another bonus. Still, knowing what this particular ghost lived on as a staple diet, certainly took the romance out of it. Not that there were any to begin with. 

"Hey, what are you doing?"  
She blurted, suddenly noticing him opening and closing drawers at random.

"Looking for your underwear."  
He replied distractedly.

"You what? Why?"

"As a souvenir to take back with me. God damn it, can't a man be curious about what his wife likes to wear? I'm goin' in blind here, how am I supposed to pick out somethin' nice for an anniversary present if I've got no fuckin' idea what you like."

"I'd like for you to stop invading my privacy, if you don't mind."  
She cried, running over, forcing him aside in order to close her drawers. 

"Fine, your loss is my gain. Can't say I didn't try, but don't get all pissy at me when you end up with a saucy little leather number. By the way, I'll need to know what size you are....no, don't tell me. I'm sure I'll be able to guess, just come over here a minute would ya?"  
Reaching towards her chest, he made a groping motion with his hands, to which she gasped and swatted him away indignantly.

"Sorry, have I overstepped my boundaries? If I have, just say. I won't be offended. Just tell me."  
He rattled on, his attention now drawn towards the bed.  
She looked on helplessly as he threw himself down on it heavily, propping his head up on his elbow whilst smoking his cigarette.  
"So darlin'....where d'ya want me?"

"W-what?"  
She stammered, her brown eyes rounding like saucers.

"The photo thing..."  
He supplied helpfully,  
"Why, what did you think I was talkin' about? Nothin' dirty I hope."

"No."  
She lied flatly, though her traitorous blushes no doubt gave her away.  
"Can you not do that?"  
She cried, leaping on an opportunity to change the subject as she noticed his black, eyelet boots rumpling her clean sheets.

"Oh, sure, sure."  
He grumbled begrudgingly, flipping himself over with ease. Lying on his back, he stretched his long legs upwards against the wall, in the manner of an uninhibited, bored child. He looked up at her, and registered her irritation.  
"What? They're not on the bed, what more d'ya want?"

"What I want, is for you to stand up so I can take your picture."  
She pointed out, and had to stifle a laugh when a heavy ball and chain suddenly appeared around his ankle.

"There, now I look the part right? Like a typical, average, happily married man."  
Placing emphasis on the word happily, he heaved himself up from the bed lazily, dragging his rattling chains behind him. 

Fetching her camera, Lydia stopped him just as he was about to flick his cigarette away.  
"What are you doing?"

"I'll get rid of it, alright? I won't stamp it into your rug or set fire to the fuckin' curtains, I'll juice it away-"

"No, it's alright. Keep it, I want to get a shot of you smoking."  
She insisted, ignoring his slight look of bewilderment.

"Okay, sure. Like a James Dean kinda thing? 'Cause if you want the whole leather jacket and motorcycle get-up, I can totally pull that look off, but I must warn ya, it's just too much for some chicks. It drives 'em nuts."

"I'm sure it does, but the suit is perfect and I don't want you on a motorcycle...can I have you against the wall?"  
She enquired, gesturing to the wall behind them.

"Kinky, I like a girl who knows what she wants. You can have me against anything you want baby."  
He smirked devilishly, as he obliged her by moving into place

"Well, 'rebel without a cause', do you think maybe you could just focus on something other than....well, other stuff, whilst I get this done? Otherwise I'm going to have to skip dinner at this rate."

"I'm actually more of a 'rebel without a pulse'"  
He snorted with a chuckle,  
"And if your mother's cooking is anything like her sculpting, then skipping dinner is probably a safe move I'd say."  
He raised the cigarette to his purple tinged lips and she hastily began snapping away, wanting to capture him off guard. He seemed to look slightly different somehow when he wasn't concentrating on anyone or anything in particular. He appeared more natural, and less showy.  
"So, what's all this shit in aid of again?"  
He was asking now, looking somewhat unconvinced.

"I just want to do something different for my project. I know all the other girls will be submitting drawings of animals and their favourite singers and all that boring stuff....well, I want to go in a different, more creative direction."  
She explained as she moved around him in order to capture his profile from every angle. 

"Well, I hope your teacher is prepared for this creepy shit." 

"They're pretty much used to it from me by now, and I wouldn't want to disappoint Claire by submitting anything less than what she'd expect from me. Although on this occasion, I may have just surpassed myself....thanks to you."  
She smiled gently, feeling more than just a little self conscious for showing her gratitude towards him.

Slightly taken aback, he finished smoking the cigarette, stubbed it out with his thumb and made the butt disappear into thin air.  
"No problem, you can repay the favour sometime. So uh, who's Claire, your friend?" 

"Hardly. Not unless you consider wanting to staple things to someone's head an act of friendship. I can't stand her."  
She scoffed, momentarily forgetting herself in order to boldly place her hands on his arms, and steer him around slightly into a different position.  
"She's the tanned prom queen, the blue eyed cheerleader. Not that we ever got along anyway. But she's more unbearable than ever these days. She's always on my case, and my witty comebacks are lost on her."

"Ah, airhead bitch then huh? Well just do what I do when some loser is giving me static, tell her to go suck your dick." 

Smiling, she continued to snap away with her camera,  
"I try not to swear when I'm insulting people, just in case they presume it's a sign of having a limited vocabulary."

"Well, on the contrary I have a very extensive vocabulary.."  
He responded, his voice now sounding decidedly English, and polished.  
"But I've always found a simple 'fuck you' to be more effective than any satirical invective." 

Dissolving into giggles, she now abandoned the camera. Deciding she had more than what she needed by now. Which was a shame, being as she'd had more fun than she would either have expected, or admitted.  
"Well, I guess we're done."  
She muttered, feeling more than just slightly awkward.

"Wait! Hold that thought!"  
He exclaimed, rather over excitedly, and with a snap of his fingers the room suddenly darkened, before being re-lit by a mirror ball which now hung from the ceiling in place of her regular light shade. Her mouth fell open as the stereo suddenly sprang to life, and a distinctly 1950's style ballad suddenly filled her ears...

'Earth angel, earth angel....will you be mine? My darling dear, love you all the time...I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you...'

Glancing down at herself, she had to stifle a gasp when she realised she was back in the wedding dress. Well an identical one at least. Daring to cast her eyes in his direction, her mind raced upon seeing him under the moving circles of light, adorned in the red tux again. She noted it was no longer tattered or dusty, but still somewhat shabby looking, which seemed to be a running theme with all of his clothing.  
Having conjured a comb, he was raking it frantically through his unruly mop of hair, which seemed longer when tidied, resting on his shoulders like the shaggy mane of a lion.  
He placed the comb in his inside pocket, before turning his attention to her. Fixing her with a crooked smile which alarmingly bordered on cute, in an abstract sort of way, he held his hand out to her.  
"Shall we?"

Completely lost for words, she found herself gliding across the floor involuntarily, being pulled towards him by an invisible force which delivered her straight into his hands. Catching her by the waist, she almost squealed again at the sensation of his large hands on her. She could feel his cool fingertips through the material of the gown, but she barely had time to respond as he pulled her to him and began moving around the room with her, forcing her to follow his lead. 

'...Earth angel, earth angel....the one I adore. Love you forever, and ever more. I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you...'  
The music continued, and her pulse began misbehaving again. 

"W-what are you doing?"  
She managed weakly, staring up at him aghast. Then she squeaked as he suddenly spun her out, catching her by the hand.

"What's it look like?"  
He remarked gruffly,  
"Ain't it traditional for newlyweds to have a first dance?"  
Spinning her back in towards him, he caught her by surprise once again by dipping her low, before bringing her back up excruciatingly slowly. His face mere millimetres from her's. 

'..I fell for you, and I knew, the vision of your love's loveliness..'  
The singer warbled from the speaker, and Lydia couldn't help but noticing how incredibly romantic the song was...  
'..I hoped and I prayed, that someday, I'd be the vision of your happiness..'

"You, you need to cut it out."  
She croaked, and as he snaked a hand down to her backside, she almost leapt out of her own skin.  
Slapping his hand away, she was convinced her face would've rivalled the colour of her dress had it not thankfully been hidden by the subdued lighting.  
"You said you'd behave!"  
She pointed out feebly.

"I always behave, just badly that's all. It isn't my fault you weren't more specific."  
He sniggered, and to her immense relief, temporarily released her and straightened.  
"But enough of this sappy shit anyway...time to liven things up a little."

Pointing his two fingers at the stereo, mimicking a gun, the song abruptly changed to a 1960's rock and roll beat, which was noticeably faster. But the lyrics were still romantic to some extent, and Lydia recognised the tune as Chuck Berry's 'Teenage Wedding' song.  
Bemused, she was about to reproach him, when suddenly he grabbed her by the hands and began twirling her around with surprising skill, and any previous tension dispersed as her face broke into a smile, which gave way to laughter as she felt her feet leaving the ground.  
"You're insane."  
She exclaimed between giggles, as he twirled her around in the air. The pair of them now levitating well above her bedroom floor.

"Don't pretend you don't love it."  
He stated with a throaty chuckle and a self assured wink, and in that moment he almost quite forgot his agenda and ulterior motives. Which was quite alarming. 

But the frivolity was not to last, as once again a loud, impatient rapping sounded from the door.  
Feet firmly back on the ground, Lydia was suddenly struck by another feeling instead of just panic this time. Disappointment. She'd allowed herself to be swept along on his wave of playful enthusiasm, and he instantly quashed any earlier feelings of apprehension, by whispering into her ear gently,  
"Okay babe, time to put Jack back in his box." 

Feeling almost rueful due to his willingness to comply, she inclined her head slightly towards his in order to whisper his name three times. Whilst doing so, their foreheads momentarily touched for the briefest of moments, then his form disappeared in a flash of green light.  
She surveyed the room quickly, and all was as it should be. The mirror ball, the dress, him...they were all gone. Nothing was out of place, and aside from her bedsheets being slightly crumpled there was nothing to suggest he'd ever been there. Even the mirror was minus his ghoulish form. 

Throwing open the door impatiently, though only showing a fraction of the irritation she felt, she was almost immediately struck down with guilt upon seeing Barbara and Adam stood before her.  
"Oh, hey.."  
She greeted them, smiling tersely.  
"Sorry, I thought you guys might've been Delia come to hassle me about dinner."  
She stood aside in order to let them enter, noticing a certain awkwardness in their demeanour, and their silence was uncharacteristic.  
"Is everything okay?"

Barbara turned to her, face filled with concern.  
"I'm not sure sweetie. I sure hope so."

"What's that smell?"  
Adam suddenly piped up, wrinkling his nose in the air.  
"Lydia, you...you haven't been smoking have you?"

"What? God no."  
She cried, trying to keep her voice steady.  
"No, I've had candles burning...and um, incense."  
She lied, inwardly cringing at her apparent talent for lying to the pair who had always treated her so kindly, 

Barbara shot Adam a look, before turning back to her. And the seriousness evident in her expression caused a sudden tensing sensation deep within Lydia's gut.

"Sweetheart, we need to talk."


	7. Kiss And Make Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confused and troubled by her conflicting emotions, Lydia finds herself facing some dark truths. After quarrelling with Beetlejuice, mind games ensue, leading to an unexpected turn of events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG love to everyone for reading/commenting and leaving kudos on this fic. You guys are simply awesome!   
> This chapter is angsty, emotions are running high so expect lots of feels....especially as things begin to hot up between the pair *wink wink*

"The boundaries which divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” - Edgar Allan Poe

**************

How did she end up here?   
She couldn't rightly recall. Or perhaps she did not want to. Her mind had long since ceased functioning properly. All coherency was gone, and all she could do now was feel, not think....

 

The previous evening had been awkward to say the least, having been given the third degree by Barbara. She'd had to sit and feign innocence as the kind couple painstakingly explained to her how 'he' was on the loose again, and quite possibly on the prowl...for her.  
Lydia had wanted to laugh, and possibly cry simultaneously due to the surreality of the situation. The fact that the Maitland's were so concerned for her safety, felt like salt being rubbed into an open wound. Barbara honestly and whole heartedly seemed to believe that Beetlejuice, being the depraved beast that he was, was going to return in order to kidnap or subject her to some form of sexual deviation or another for his own twisted pleasure. All the while, she sat inwardly squirming, mortified by the knowledge that she was the one guilty of speaking his name, of bringing him back. And their fears were completely unfounded. Aside from his occasional attempt to grope her, and inappropriate remarks, he had proved to be no threat to her chastity. And knowing he may well be listening to their berating, added to her excruciating embarrassment. Even she found listening to Barbara's lamenting over having ever exposed her to such a lecherous 'pervert' painful to listen to, and bitterly ironic. Because as her ghostly friend recounted the way in which he had forcibly kissed her, leered at her legs and attempted to look up her dress, Lydia began to feel irrationally irritated. Her feelings alarmingly bordered on what could only be described as jealousy. But it couldn't be, could it?  
So what if Beetlejuice had kissed Barbara? That really ought not to have bothered her...yet it did.

"Remember the...you know, the...whore house, Adam?"  
Barbara went on, relentless in her quest to prove her point. 

Adam fidgeted uncomfortably, adjusting his glasses.   
"Well Barbara, I don't think we need to go into all of that."

"She needs to be made aware Adam, he's a sexual predator-"

"Look, I already know about that place, I saw it in the model. That's where he was when I first met him."  
Lydia interrupted, unable to endure anymore.  
"I knew then what type of place it was, I'm not an idiot." 

The surprise on both of their faces was almost amusing. They really did believe that she existed in some type of bubble, an impenetrable bubble that kept the seedy, gritty reality of the world at bay. But that wasn't the case. There was no such thing, and it wasn't possible to remain naive and ignorant to the ways of the world forever. She knew the Maitland's had her best interests at heart, but their overprotectiveness was proving to be stifling. As endearing as it was that they cared, and wanted to shield her from all things potentially dangerous and unsavoury, Lydia was finding it increasingly difficult to live with. After all, she wasn't a child anymore. She was almost eighteen now, she had grown up a lot since having first encountered Beetlejuice, and now she longed for adventure and danger. 

After eventually convincing them that she believed herself to be in no grave danger, whilst promising to remain vigilant, and inform them of any signs of his return, they had at last left. Leaving her all churned up inside, and more confused than ever.   
She had no desire to dwell upon the strange emotions Barbara's warnings had stirred up. Along with the usual guilt and shame for blatantly lying to her surrogate mother and father by denying all knowledge of Beetlejuice having been set loose, there was far more worrisome feelings going on now.  
Was it due to morbid curiosity? The nagging resentfulness she felt towards those ghoulish women who had indulged him in that bordello, made no sense at all. What was there to be envious or resentful about? He was pretty much everything Barbara claimed he was. A sexually promiscuous poltergeist, with an apparent insatiable appetite for women. But she couldn't deny that it troubled her. The thought of him having kissed her, like he'd kissed many others, and it meaning nothing, troubled her. 

The realisation that she had wanted it to mean something, was sobering indeed and made her blood run cold and face flush hot. There definitely had to be something wrong with her. Wanting him, of all people, to want her....surely that couldn't be what she was feeling. The very thought of it should've been enough to turn her stomach, but there seemed to be no other explanation. There was no logic in it, and it didn't matter how much she told herself it was wrong. Her head had been continuously at war with her heart and, dare she even think it, body. But there was no reasoning with her ridiculously romantic nature. She'd clearly been hijacked by her hormones.

Forced to examine her feelings, she realised that instead of being repulsed by him she found herself increasingly intrigued by his crude manner and reputation for being lascivious. He had piqued her interest and awakened her deepest, darkest desires. Knowing that such desires could never be acted upon, for several different reasons, made the forbidden temptation all the more alluring.   
Now instead of just viewing him as a ghastly, demonic entity, she was seeing him from a different perspective. She was seeing him as a man, albeit a dead one, but he was undoubtedly male, and he oozed masculinity. Physically, his stature was tall and broad, and his posture commanding. He radiated a self-assured confidence that the boys she had met all lacked. Their awkward shyness wasn't attractive, whereas his powerful, strong, assertiveness was. 

Terrified by the startling revelation, she was attempting to process all of her conflicting emotions when he had put in an appearance. And her present mood brought out the passive-aggressiveness in her, possibly as a subconscious coping mechanism.   
Noticeably jumpy and defensive, she had almost immediately yet inadvertently started the bickering which quickly escalated into an argument...

"Perhaps I should just tell Barbara that you're here."  
She mused, feeling utterly torn. 

And his reaction had been suitably predictable..

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? C'mon babe don't be stupid, old Chuck would probably have an instant seizure or somethin', they'd never trust your deceitful ass again, and it'd be a fate worse than death for me."

"Don't call me stupid. If anything I was stupid for not telling them about you in the first place."  
She exclaimed, folding her arms defensively across her chest as if subconsciously creating another barrier between them.  
"All you care about is your own self preservation. That's the only reason you're here anyway."

His pointed eyebrows drew together in a frown, as he stared at her hard with his twinkling green eyes.  
"Well ya know, technically kid I'm here because you called me-"

"Don't keep calling me that...I'm not a child!"  
She snapped, her irrational irritation increasing further still.  
"I suppose that is all you see me as though, right? A stupid kid."

"Whoa, hold up a second. Rewind. Don't put words in my mouth, I got plenty enough of my own. Try to remember you're talkin' to a dead guy here, so pretty much anyone alive is a kid when you consider the fact I'm well over six fuckin' hundred years old."  
His jaw perceptibly tightened as he spoke, and she faltered for a moment. Not having realised precisely how old he was, this came as something of a shock.

"Well...however old you are, it doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do. I don't owe you anything, you're nothing to me. So if I want to talk to Barbara about you being here I will, and you're not going to stop me."  
She proclaimed boldly, tilting her chin upwards in defiance.

Clearly enraged, he flailed around in agitation. His features now contorting into a deep scowl.  
"I think you'll find you do owe me, you fuckin' owe me big time. So don't go screwing everything up now just 'cause you've had some attack of conscience. Those losers don't need to know shit, it's none of their damn business. This is between me and you."

"No, there is no me and you. You're just trying to use me, that's all you've ever wanted. Well I won't let you, my loyalty lies with them. So there's no reason why I should keep listening to you."

"You know what, fine!"  
He raged, and the anger in his tone made her shudder as though someone had just walked over her grave.  
"I'll show you how much I need you, don't fuckin' flatter yourself sweetheart, I'm gone. I don't wanna hang around you deadbeats anyway. You're a real fuckin' drag, you know that? Screw the marriage, it ain't worth it. I'm outta here."

"Good, I hope you're not ever coming back either, because I definitely won't be calling you."  
She ranted back, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop herself. Even as she spoke them, she could hear how hollow and empty they sounded.

"Well you can call me til you're blue in the face for all I care, but there ain't no way I'd come."  
He growled, and his form began to disperse before her eyes.

"I hope that's a promise!"  
She yelled at the empty space in her mirror that he'd previously occupied. But there was no response, only a heavy silence and her own reflection which stared back at her through teary eyes. 

Damn him. She thought, and damn her stubborn pride and stupidity. 

 

The remainder of the night had passed by painfully quietly. She ate dinner, though the food seemed to have lost it's taste. And for once, Delia's cooking couldn't be blamed.   
Having showered, she retired to bed early, curling into a ball, holding herself tightly. She felt very much like a snow globe that had been shaken up vigorously then set back down.  
When she finally drifted off, sleep had been a welcome escape, because good old BJ had entered her dreams once more. He'd been absent since Beetlejuice had entered her life, and now that he had gone, his dream counterpart returned. Although this saddened her, as she interpreted it as an indication that he really had gone now for good. And even the dream she had involved her quarrelling with her beloved, faithful companion. The comparisons were spookily similar, save for the fact that he was as equally devastated by their falling out.   
In reality she knew, she took up no space in his mind. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She awoke feeling suitably dejected, and begrudgingly headed off to school without bothering to eat breakfast. She had lost her appetite, along with the previous good humour she'd felt over the last few days.   
She was not in the right frame of mind for school, her languorous mood only increased over the course of the morning and by lunchtime she'd decided she'd had enough. Skipping school was not something she made a habit of, but today it was called for.   
If any of the teachers had noticed her collecting her bike, she would've told them she was sick. Which wouldn't have been completely untrue. She did feel nauseated. She was sick of him affecting her so badly. Even when she'd been going through a rough patch thanks to Brett, she hadn't felt this upset and irritable. 

The only person who did seem to notice her leaving was of course, Claire. It had to be. Wasn't that always the way? The one person you're least able to tolerate is the one who magically appears at the precise moment when you're not equipped to handle it. Lydia was in no mood for her nonsense, and fleetingly wondered how much damage it would cause to her bike if she deliberately ran into her. 

"And where are you off to then Lydia? Got a funeral to go to?"  
Her irritating, syrupy voice called out from the main entrance.  
"At least you're always dressed for the occasion, and like, totally look all depressed anyway."

Raising herself up off the seat, Lydia hesitated briefly before she began peddling away.  
"Claire....go suck my dick!"

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Grumbling to himself, Beetlejuice sat cross legged, reading an out of date copy of the Afterlife newspaper. Try as he might, that was the one thing he never quite managed to do. Yeah, he was the 'ghost with the most' yet somehow conjuring the most recent issue of a newspaper seemed beyond the limit of his capabilities.   
At least conjuring beer, cigarettes and beetles weren't, but after having spent centuries doing so, he was confident that was something he couldn't screw up. Unlike his relationships. Now that, he could've won a prize for. Physically shuddering, he shrugged off the unwanted thoughts that had crept back into his already overactive mind. There was no place for such thoughts, he told himself. He didn't even have a relationship per say, with Little Miss PMT. She was supposed to be just a means to an end, nothing more. But even that, he realised, was in jeopardy now. If she had sincerely wanted him to go, then any progress he thought he'd been making in regards to cajoling her around to his way of thinking, was in fact non existent, and the time and effort he'd put in wasn't worth shit. 

Heaving an exasperated sigh, he took another long swig from his bottle of beer and lit yet another cigarette. He was already bored, after having spent the entire morning napping, chain smoking and drinking, whilst silently plotting his next move. She had pissed him off by banging on about ratting him out to the Maitland's. But not enough for him to leave. He was content to let her think that he had, but in actual fact, the prospect of being able to break his curse through this damn marriage was too good an opportunity to walk away from. He wasn't about to give in so easily, he'd come too far and waited too long to throw the towel in just because he'd hit a stumbling block. He was quietly confident that his plan could be brought to fruition, he just needed Mrs Juice back on side.   
In the meantime he figured a lesson wouldn't go amiss either, maybe she would miss having him around and then regret having behaved like such a douche. But in saying that, as his leg cramped up for the umpteenth time, he wondered how much longer he'd be able to hack it, hiding out here.   
He continued to drown his sorrows, and pickle his already shrunken liver, for some time, until the familiar sound of the bedroom door opening and closing gained his attention. 

Half expecting to see one, or both of the Maitland's snooping around, or the mega bitch that was Delia Deetz, he rose to his knees in order to peer out, and was completely caught off guard by the sight of Lydia. Throwing her satchel onto the bed, she shrugged out of her school blazer, discarding that along with it.  
Quickly glancing down at the watch which was set to living time, he noted that she wasn't due home as it was only 12:30....give or take a year....Perhaps the watch had ran down, or maybe he'd fallen into a time slip. He had after all, consumed rather a vast amount of alcohol.   
But it was then he also noticed the way in which Lydia seemed intent on removing the rest of her clothes, something which she'd never previously done. Since his arrival, she'd made a point of ruining any chance of fun by getting changed in the bathroom. Yet now here she was, peeling off her black opaque tights, and unbuttoning her blouse excruciatingly slowly. Perhaps she really was gullible enough to believe that he'd left, in which case he was to be blessed with some entertainment after all. 

Clambering to his feet in order to afford himself the best view possible, he found himself waiting with bated breath as her dainty fingers worked at the small buttons. He caught a flash of lacy, white bra material and smiled to himself, now secretly pleased for having given such a convincing performance as to have fooled her into thinking he had departed. But then she turned away unexpectedly, and his smile vanished. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he quickly reassessed the situation.  
"Fuckin' little minx."  
He muttered under his breath, as the realisation struck him like a blow to the head. This was a charade. A charade for his benefit. She was testing him, checking to see if he was there. This little performance was nothing more than an attempt to draw him out. 

Facing the opposite way, she allowed the blouse to slip down her shoulders, before moving on to her skirt.   
He was bordering on furious now, despite being impressed by her cunning, her arrogance incensed him. She clearly didn't appreciate who she was attempting to toy with here. And he decided she needed to be taught a lesson for her impudence. He wanted her to get a taste of the danger she was flirting with, and naturally he considered himself the right candidate to teach it.   
"I fuckin' love loopholes."  
He grinned to himself, mustering as much energy as possible.  
"Now, let's turn on the juice and see what shakes loose."

Nervously, Lydia had just unbuckled the belt on her long, plaid skirt, when she felt a familiar, ominous presnce. She had all but decided to give up on him, certain that if he had still been in the mirror then he would've passed some inappropriate comment by now. That is all she had intended to do, see if he put in an appearance, and if he had, then her dignity would still be relatively in tact being as she had no intentions of stripping off completely, and she had even envisaged it as a way of breaking the ice after their quarrel. Indeed she felt incredibly ridiculous and awkward whilst removing her blouse, but it didn't matter now being as he wasn't there....  
But then all at once....he was, and in every sense of the word.   
She looked up and there he stood before her, looking considerably pleased with himself.   
She let out a strangled shriek as panic gripped her, and made a feeble attempt to cover herself with her arms.   
"God!"

"Not even close."  
He drawled, his green eyes glowing as they roved over her hungrily.  
"So, ya wanna kiss and make up?"

Desperately trying to regain her composure, she moved slowly towards the bed in the hopes of retrieving her abandoned blouse.  
"H-how did you get out? You're not supposed to be able to do that."  
She stammered, fumbling to string a sentence together.

"Yeah well technically it isn't supposed to be possible, but you see the last time you sent me back, I went willingly. And I guess you could say it's like a reward for good behaviour. Perimeters permitting and all that shit, I just about have enough juice to get to the other side all by myself like a big boy."

Her eyes widened as she made a grab for her shirt, and with lightning speed he whisked it away out of her reach.  
'Now speakin' of me being a big boy..."  
He reached down and lewdly grabbed his crotch.  
"Ain't I glad I got me a big girl who's all grown up now. Ooh la la, you were right, ya ain't no kid. Haven't you grown little Lydia."

All innuendo aside, the sound of her name on his ludicrously full lips was enough to cause goosebumps to rise on her skin.   
Skirting backwards, she found his deliberately slow approach even more unnerving than when he'd previously chased her around the bed. This felt like being stalked. His ravenous gaze and wiry hair put her more in mind of a lion than ever. His expression now bore more resemblance to a wild animal than a man, his eyes darkened and narrowed, assuming a feral look as he surveyed her closely. As though she were his prey. 

"What, what are you going to do to me?"  
She somehow managed, unsure of whether or not she wanted him to answer. 

"Hmm, now that's a real interesting question, but I think the time for chit-chat has passed, wouldn't ya agree? I think I'll let my tongue do the talking, if ya know what I mean?"  
He rasped, his voice thickening, just like the air in the room seemed to have done.  
He edged ever closer, and she found herself unable to move, as though her feet had been nailed to the floor. But it wasn't through any of his doing. Her legs had somehow involuntarily ceased working.

Closing the distance between them, she gasped as he reached out and snaked his hand up into her dark hair, gripping a handful of it tightly in order to force her head back. She felt the distinct sensation of his cool, firm lips pressing against the line of her throat and had to fight to suppress a squeal. This had to be a dream, she reasoned with herself, or perhaps a tantalising nightmare, as he slowly placed sensuous, open mouthed kisses down her neck. Sending shivers along her spine. Her conscience screamed that she should be outraged and appalled. And she was absolutely disgusted at herself for not being. His lips trailed back along her neck, growing more hungry as they reached a suddenly sensitive spot just below her ear. 

"Beetlejuice."  
She breathed heavily, and his head snapped up, having gained his instant attention.

"Ah, now steady there with the B word, if you send me back now you'll ruin all the fun! What's the matter babe, had enough already?"  
He grinned down at her mischievously.

"No."  
She wasn't quite sure if she'd thought or said the word, but judging by the look of utter astonishment on his face, it was safe to assume she had uttered both his name and the answer to his question aloud. 

She felt her face burn like a brand, which wasn't helped by the way he'd locked eyes with her. And in that instant there was no more slow approach, no hesitation or decision to be made. He surged forwards, lowering his head and catching her small mouth in a kiss. Slipping his surprisingly strong arms around her, she felt her legs turn to water beneath her.  
Rather than pushing him away, her hands reached up to grasp the collar of his jacket. Clinging to it for support, she found herself doing the unthinkable....she kissed him back. Nervously at first, and filled with apprehension, but as her stone-like resolve crumbled to dust, she kissed with more conviction. Straining upwards, returning his passion, she arched her petite body against his tall one. 

Similarly, he had been completely blind-sided by the drastic turn of events. His initial intention had been to scare her with his wicked advances, yet it appeared she was enjoying this forbidden, intimate exchange just as much as he was. He could feel her melting into him, which was proving to be very very seductive indeed. Lost in the moment, he pushed her back against the wall, and braced himself against her.  
She emitted a small, inarticulate noise as she found herself trapped against his chest. There was an urgency, a sense of need to his body language, as if he wasn't able to get close enough. He seemed determined to devour her mouth, and as his velvety tongue gently probed at her lips, she instinctively accepted him in, allowing him to tentatively explore. 

He tasted, surprisingly, like treacle of all things, with an added hint of bitterness which put her in mind of alcohol.  
Spurred on by his enthusiasm, she didn't stop to dwell on her actions for fear of ruining the moment by overanalysing it with such questions as, how did she end up here? She couldn't rightly recall. Or perhaps she did not want to. Her mind had long since ceased functioning properly. All coherency was gone, and all she could do now was feel, not think....afraid that if she did, she may well die of shame or disgust. But the fact that he was a ghost...a malicious, morally corrupt, ghost...was no longer enough of an issue to prevent her from surrendering to her curios, depraved desires.

"This is...this is all kinds of messed up."  
She exhaled shakily as they broke for air.

His mouth twisted into a demonic grin that she found disturbingly sexy, adding fuel to the fire that he'd ignited in her belly, as well as cementing her belief that there was something seriously wrong with her. She needed professional help, from a psychiatrist....or possibly even a priest. 

"If it ain't messy then it ain't no fun."  
He replied, his voice husky with need.   
"What's the matter babe? Are you having a hard time dealing with the idea of making out with a dead guy? 'Cause I'm having a pretty 'hard' time here myself.."  
Thrusting his pelvis forwards in order to prove his point, she all but shrieked when she felt the alarming, unmistakable bulge in his trousers pressing against her.

"Oh god! Wait! Stop!"  
She cried, forcing him back with as much conviction as she could muster.

"What?"  
He whined, sounding so disgruntled she half expected him to stamp his foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum.  
"What's the problem here? So you made a stiff stiff, why should that be such a big surprise?"

"Ugh, it is actually...I mean, how is that even possible?"

"Hey, don't sell yourself short baby. You're pretty fuckin' hot, so why should it come as a shock that you're able to, ya' know...'raise' the dead?"  
He winked, and made to advance upon her again but she raised her hands to halt him in his tracks.

"See that is what I'm talking about! Can you please just stop with the whole being dead thing....it's creepy, and weird."

"Okay, so forget I mentioned it. But what do ya wanna do? Pretend I'm a breather? Will that make ya feel better huh? Will it make ya feel more comfortable?"  
His sarcasm did not hide the hurt she detected in his voice. He was offended.  
"What, you only just noticed or somethin'? Because if you're so hung up on me being fuckin' dead then why would you play tonsil hockey with me?"

Perceptibly tensing, her embarrassment soared to new heights. How could she possibly explain something that she was struggling to make sense of herself.   
"I...I don't know, okay? I just...got carried away. I don't know what to think, or what I feel. But it's just so wrong, isn't it?"

He snorted loudly, not bothering to hide his disdain.   
"You're asking me what's right or wrong? What am I some kind of oracle? Well I'll tell you what I think, you're too fuckin' self absorbed. Fretting about shit that doesn't really matter. I make my own reality, and I ain't here to fit into yours or anyone else's. I am what I am, take it or leave it." 

"But what, and who are you exactly? That's the thing, I don't even know."  
She pointed out, hoping that he was at least able to see her point even if he was reluctant to admit it. 

"You know damn well who I am, as well as what. Quit trying to dig deeper 'cause I sure as hell know what I ain't gonna be, and that's an eccentric curiosity for some angsty teen..."  
He ranted, arms flailing around in frustration.   
"....Shit, I can imagine how I'd be a welcome distraction from your boring, shitty existence...hell I can even admit you have been for me, but I won't be a fuckin' cry for help, a way to rebel against your parents or someone to fool around with when it suits ya....the list is endless, but you either want me or you don't-"

"Stop it!"  
She yelled, momentarily forgetting herself and gripping hold of his arms. He stiffened slightly, surprised by the unexpected contact.  
"You're not just any of those things, you're more than that to me...I just don't know if I can do this."

Cocking his head to one side in a puppy-like fashion, he shot her a withering look which was quite at odds with his demeanour. His wild eyes glowed like two blazing pools of lava, fierce and frightening, reminding her that beneath the creepy playfulness lay a deadly force.  
"Ya know what, babe?"  
He growled, his lip curling into a sneer.  
"I'll make this easy for ya."   
His form grew hazy, and her hands no longer held him, causing panic to rise within her. 

Grasping at his dissolving form, she felt tears begin to prick her eyes once more. He was going to go, and she suddenly couldn't bear the thought of losing him again. This time possibly for good. All games aside, she wasn't willing to run the risk. She'd been given another chance, and she wasn't going to lose him because of her reservations regarding his existence and what was morally, ethically or socially acceptable.  
"Wait! Don't leave me!"  
She pleaded, her voice strained and threatening to crack with emotion.

Rushing over to her mirror, she placed her hands against the glass, and attempted to steady her breathing. She didn't know if he was there or not, but she no longer had anything left to lose.   
"Beetlejuice....if you you can hear me, then please don't leave. I know I've got issues, but you're pretty screwed up too! And I do know one thing...I don't want to be without you."   
She admitted, in a small voice.

Several minutes dragged by, excruciatingly slowly like years. And who knows, perhaps for Beetlejuice it was. She remained unmoving, silently hoping, until finally his ragged, striped figure manifested behind the glass, the sight of which made her want to cry with relief.  
Sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, feigning indifference as he deliberately ignored her, he pretended to be fascinated with one of his dirt engrained nails.

"Listen....I want to make a new deal with you, if you're interested?"  
She exclaimed now with determination.

Slowly he turned his head to look at her, straightening slightly.  
"I'm listening."

"I want to get to know you, properly. I need you to tell me more about yourself-"

"Why?"  
He interrupted, confusion clouding his ghostly features.

Swallowing hard she persisted, hoping he wouldn't detect the trembling in her voice.  
"Because...because I want to know the man, or ghost, that I married."

Her words caused a sudden heat to ripple through his aged body, as the gravity of her declaration breathed new life into him, filling him with excitement.  
She wanted him to open up to her, and in return she was willing to acknowledge him as her lawfully wedded, yet deaded husband.

"Sure, wifey..."  
He dead-panned, smiling lazily. His eyes now glistening with possibilities.  
"...you got yourself a deal."


	8. Sketchbooks, Snakes and Sexual Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice is called away unexpectedly, resulting in Lydia missing his presence more than ever. But she quickly encounters problems of her own.  
> When he returns, he's anxious to pick up where they left off. But where exactly will that lead them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologise for the delay in updating, I honestly haven't had any free time to write. But this is a long chapter with lots going on, so I hope that makes up for it. 
> 
> As usual I want to say a massive thank you for all your wonderful feedback. I'm humbled by your support and kindness, and I'm thrilled that this fandom is still alive and going strong. BJxLydia forever! xD
> 
> Lastly, the song featured is "I don't know why (but I do)" by Clarence Henry, and the snake described is a Carolina corn snake, if anyone's interested in checking them out.
> 
> Still don't own the rights to Beetlejuice or any other characters (except Brett, he's mine) or the song. 
> 
> Enjoy! *fingers crossed*

Hands thrust deep inside his striped pockets, Beetlejuice bounced excitedly on his heels whilst waiting for Lydia to return. Consumed with restless energy, he could scarcely contain his vivacity.  
Things were going swimmingly. He never would've expected his current situation to play out like this, it was almost too easy.  
She was making it too easy for him.  
A slow smile crept across his face as he conjured a generously sized black beetle, and proceeded to crunch on it distractedly, lost in his thoughts. Perhaps he'd underestimated the power of his magnetism. Clearly she was drawn to him like a helpless moth to a flame. And if she wanted to play with fire, then who was he to deny access? If she craved the flame's embrace, then she'd better be prepared to get burned. She was old enough to make her own decisions, even the stupid-ass ones...such as letting some young punk pop her cherry instead of calling on him to do the honours. But maybe there'd be other 'first's' he could be for her, and his imagination began running rampant.  
She'd been a confused young girl on the brink of adulthood when he'd first met her. Aged just sixteen, she was undeniably pretty with the potential to be a real stunner once she came of age. Now she'd blossomed into a fine specimen of a woman, and he felt like a complete tool for somehow failing to notice her fuller breasts, and curvier hips until now. Had he known of the treasures that lay hidden beneath those shapeless black sacks she slept in, he would never have gotten a moments rest.  
His mind wandered back to the way in which her chest rose and fell rapidly as he'd approached her, and he subconsciously licked his lips at the memory. Surmising she was most likely a C-cup, or even if she was a B, he firmly believed that more than a handful was a waste. Either way, he would find out, and made a mental note to put his guesstimate to the test as soon as circumstances permitted.  
It was bizarre how his attempt at intimidation had resulted in him making out with her like a freakin' hormone imbalanced teenager, but her unexpected initial reaction had led him to press his luck, and boy was he glad he had. There'd been no resistance, only reciprocated want, and now he was confident that he'd reach second base next time...and he'd make damn sure there was a next time. Once she got over her hang ups about him not being alive. 

As he stood deep in contemplation, the sudden distant sound of his name being called made him physically jerk. Had he imagined that? No, there it was again....this time spoken with more conviction. For a moment he wondered if Lydia had decided to set him loose after all. She'd gone to the basement to develop the photographs she'd taken of him, after flatly declining his offer to accompany her. Much to his annoyance, he'd used up all of his energy reserves earlier by passing through the perimeter by himself, so he needed her to call on him as per usual in order to get out.  
Hoping she'd changed her mind, and that she'd found the temptation of being alone with him in her dark room had proved irresistible, he strained to hear. Anxiously awaiting the the third and final call....  
It came, and he felt the preliminary surge of energy consume every fibre of his being, as the gravitational pull sucked his form into the familiar spiralling, cyclone funnel. But as he transported, the sensation of being suspended in mid-air with no up or down seemed to last forever, which could only mean one thing...he was traveling a much greater distance than he'd anticipated. 

As he materialised, his guts twisted into knots upon seeing his surroundings. Closing his eyes against the whipping wind, he struggled to catch his breath. What the fuck was this? He'd most definitely been summoned, but this was the last place he expected to end up. Perched on the ridge of a jagged cliff, with nothing surrounding it, he gazed down nervously at the vast expanse of foggy emptiness. Save for the 'lost souls' room in the hallway of the Neitherworld, this place ranked second when it came to afterlife purgatory. This was the Nether. Comprising of nothing but a solitary, high mountain that rivalled Everest or any other on Earth, there was nowhere else to go. This was a gaping primordial void in time and space, and it was common knowledge that if you were unfortunate enough to lose your footing and fall, or be stupid enough to jump, you'd fall forever. Continuously, for all eternity. This was as near to hell as it got. No burning pit of fire was necessary. Legend had it that the evil-to-the-core souls, the ones that repeatedly caused suffering to others in each lifetime, were banished here. Driven mad by isolation and despair eventually they'd take the plunge, and that was that. 

"Beetlejuice?"  
The gentle female voice cut through the sound of the howling wind that swirled around him.

Whirling around, he would've sighed with relief had it not caused his ancient lungs so much pain.  
"Jesus Christ, Bella! What the fuck?"  
He barked at her angrily.  
"I mean, I know I'm dead already but if I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to give me a fuckin' heart attack! What is this bullshit?" 

"Will you calm down. You told me to contact you once I had some information for you."  
She stated quite matter-of-factly, and her blasé attitude incensed him further.

Throwing his arms up and head back, he shouted into the dark emptiness above him.  
"Calm down she says! Fuckin' calm down!"  
His voice echoed around the abyss, and the petite blonde brought her finger up to her lip, as a gesture to silence him. 

"Hush! You don't want to be heard-"

"Don't shush me, sister. Oh, and who the hell is gonna hear me out here anyway? Are you kiddin' me? No one hears your fuckin' screams in this hell hole, this is the shit nightmares are made of."

"Well that's the point, that's why I chose here."  
She informed him, smiling triumphantly.  
"But your voice is so distinctive, if by chance anyone were to hear, they'll recognise it's you. So it's probably best you keep it down just to be on the safe side."

"There is no fuckin' safe side here Bella, I can't believe you'd drag me here of all places. I mean, I know I said be creative when you contact me but this just takes the piss. You'd better have somethin' good for me, I tell you that."  
He ranted, forced to remain still due to the treacherous crumbling rock beneath his feet. He didn't dare move, despite feeling the need to pace around. 

"Well that's another reason why I decided to meet here. No one must know about this, Beetlejuice....I ran the girl's name through the system and I got a hit-"

"Who is she?"  
He demanded before she'd had time to finish her sentence.  
"Or should I say who was she?"

"That's the thing, I don't know. There are discrepancies with her file. There's no previous names, or dates. The only information was location, she's lived in Conneticut before."

"She? So she was a chick then? From New England?"  
He swallowed, suddenly feeling quite bilious.  
"Why isn't there more? How can she be on the system with all her personal information missing?"

Bellatrix eyed him curiously, as though trying to gauge his reaction.  
"Someone must have tampered with the file. The data has been deleted or removed. I don't know who would do such a thing, or why, but it looks as though whoever did it didn't want her details being found." 

Green eyes rounding in their dark sockets, Beetlejuice cautiously stepped towards her. No longer caring so much about the gaping chasm surrounding him.  
"That makes no god damn sense, you can't just wipe someone's file. That's a serious, punishable offence, so who'd risk it, and for what? Why? Why her? This stinks. Somethin ain't right here Bella, I dunno what the hell's goin on but it fuckin' reeks." 

"If you believe that to be so, then you need to do what you said and get the heck out of that house and away from her."

Shaking his head vigorously he turned away in order to avoid her eyes. He didn't want her eyeballing him like that. Although he, like her, possessed the power of telekinesis, he'd always been convinced she was also telepathic, and perhaps she just refused to admit her abilities.  
"No. No no no, no can do. That ain't an option."

"Why? What is it that ties you to her?"

"Nuthin'"  
He replied, a little too quickly and forcibly, which he immediately regretted. She was bound to notice his defensiveness. 

Rolling her eyes, she placed her hand on his arm affectionately.  
"I know you won't answer me plainly. But whatever it is that is holding you there, you need to be careful. If you've known her before then becoming entangled again might not be good for you."

"Let me just stop you right there, it's not her, alright Bella...Just because Lydia has lived in Conneticut before, and has ended up back there in this life doesn't prove shit, okay? So don't imply that she could be...her." 

"You mean Lucinda?"  
Bellatrix blurted, painfully aware of the way her brother visibly flinched at the mention of the woman's name.  
"Beetlejuice....it was thirty four years ago, and you can't even speak her name." 

"I can, I just don't wanna."  
He retorted childishly, flaring his nostrils in indignation.

"You need to distance yourself from this girl."  
She continued, ignoring the way he snorted rudely in response to her words.  
"I'm serious, you need to leave before you become too attached."

"I ain't attached. Let's just say my time spent with her is an investment."  
He grinned now, paying no attention to her disapproving look.  
"Let's just say she's worth the risk."

"Oh Beetlejuice, please tell me you're not....well, you know..."  
She fumbled for words, as if reluctant to speak them out loud.  
"...involved...with her. She's still living, you can't have a relationship with someone who's still alive."

"Pfft"  
He scoffed, rocking back on his heels. Thoroughly amused by her horrified expression.  
"Who can't? If she wants the ghost with the most then it'd be rude of me to withhold my services."

"Stop it! This isn't funny, bridging between the dead and the living isn't to be taken lightly. And you are already in trouble, do you really want to add seducing a living being to your rap sheet? Juno will have you up in front of the panel, and they could condemn you to be exorcised."

"Yeah but that's where the good old nuptials come into play. So what can they fuckin' do about it then? I'll tell ya chica, Jack shit. There's nothin' they can do. My ass is covered, and the curse will be non existent. So they'll have to catch me if they can."  
Dissolving into a maniacal laugh, he didn't hear the sound of his name being called yet again. 

"Oh Beetlejuice, tell me you haven't?....You've married her?"  
She cried, accusingly.  
"Do you really feel that strongly for her? And she for you?"

"No, it was two fuckin' years ago and it was more of a spur of the moment, bribery kinda affair."  
He sputtered, his throat sore from laughing and inhaling the strange, cloying air.  
"So spare me the lecture sis, I can handle it. She wants me now, I'm pretty much positive about that. All I gotta do is figure out how to break this shitty curse, 'cause it ain't no fairytale, kiss-of-true-love crap, because I've already tongued her face off and there weren't no magic beam of light or anything." 

Openly cringing, Bellatrix brought the palm of her hand up to cover her face. Peering at him between her fingers.  
"Oh my! It isn't that simple. She has to accept you emotionally, as well as physically. She needs to love and want you wholeheartedly. That's why it's never been achieved before. It's impossible. No living human could develop such a bond with one of us. It's better we stick to our own kind." 

Feeing more than just slightly deflated, he didn't attempt to hide his disappointment.  
"No shit, really? Agh fuck! I knew I'd have to turn on the charm and spend time with her but Jesus...that's deep. Not sure I can pull that off."  
He admitted reluctantly.

"Well, you can't really get close to someone unless you're honest. Maybe you should try that. Have you even told her about the curse? No doubt you haven't. Avoidance might be your style little brother but you won't win a girl's heart by being slippery."  
She advised kindly, shooting him a knowing smile.

"Win her heart? Give me a break, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm no Prince Charming."  
He muttered dejectedly.  
"And less of the little, just 'cause you made it out before me doesn't make you older." 

Laughing now, she punched him playfully in the arm, and he reacted by pulling her into a bear hug.  
"I love you Beetle." 

"Yeah? Who doesn't? I'm a lovable kind of guy."  
He sniggered, before falling silent....had someone just called his name, yet again?  
Loosening his hold, he lifted his head. Desperately trying to hone in on the distance and the voice he could've sworn he'd just heard.

Sensing his sudden tension and confusion, Bellatrix instinctively took a step back from him.  
"You're being summoned aren't you?"

"Sounds like it, but I can't focus with all this fuckin' wind. Shit I'm popular today. Still, they gotta say it another two times yet-"  
No sooner had the words left his mouth, when the call came again, unexpectedly pulling at him from the inside out.  
"Wait, what the?..."

"Just be careful."  
She called after him, as his form began to fade, dissolving into a plume of green smoke. 

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++

To say Lydia was disappointed when she returned and found him gone, was an understatement. In fact, she felt utterly crushed. After having struck a deal and, well....they'd shared a somewhat impromptu, intimate moment, the thought of which still made her pulse involuntarily quicken, but for him to just disappear without a trace, without a word of warning was just too much.

During his absence, she busied herself with school, and continued with her art project. Though having to study his photograph whilst sketching her drawing, was a bitter pill to swallow. He'd gone and left, despite her emotional declaration and pleading. And as she sat shading in the dark circles of his eyes with charcoal on the canvas, she felt more of an idiot than ever. She'd probably put him off with all her emotional drama, and a mixture of regret and indignation swirled around inside, making her feel sick to her stomach.

Amazingly, she managed to hold it together for the following few days. But then things seemed to come to a head, after a train wreck of a day. She found herself under fire from all directions, which resulted in her falling apart at the seams. Firstly, thanks to Claire reporting her, she was detained after school for having used 'foul language' and ditching afternoon classes. Then upon returning home she had to suffer a lecture from Delia, of all people...

"Don't you have any friends at that school of yours, Lydia?"  
She chirped, waylaying her in the hallway.  
"You need to get out more, and spend time with friends who...well, who are alive for one thing! Not that I've got anything against Barb and Adam but you should be out socialising. When I was your age I was a social butterfly, I was in demand."

"Yeah? What went wrong?"  
Lydia retorted sardonically, instantly regretting it as her stepmother practically jumped down her throat.

"Don't take that tone with me young lady. I am trying, trying to offer you guidance here. You're no better than a hermit, hiding up in that room of yours day in day out. It's a wonder you've not gone crazy."

"Delia, I'm happy being a hermit. I'm sorry but I'm never going to be some socialite type. That's just not me."

"Happy? Happy? Are you mad? Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Panicked by this, Lydia spun around on the stairs to face the red haired woman. Trying not to focus on the bizarre glove-headband that adorned her head. Did she know something? Why was she mentioning her mirror?  
"What has my mirror got to do with anything?"

"Your face Lydia, have your seen that long face of yours? You can't possibly be happy. If you ask me you're more miserable than ever, and that's saying something."

Breathing a small sigh of relief, Lydia continued on her way upstairs.  
"Well I'm perfectly happy being miserable. At least nothing's changed."

"But when you were seeing Brett you were happy."  
Delia harped on, oblivious to the way her footsteps slowed on the stairs.  
"Can't you two work things out? I could call his mother and-"

"No!"  
She cried, aghast. The very thought made her want to vomit blood.  
"Brett made me miserable, I don't want him in my life. I don't need anyone to make me happy."  
Faltering slightly as her traitorous mind wandered back to Beetlejuice for a split second, she shook her head as if to rid herself of her unwanted thoughts.

Eager to reach the safe haven of her room, she was utterly astonished to find Barbara waiting for her on the top landing, looking decidedly vexed to say the least.  
"Um, hi Barbara. Is everything okay?"  
She ventured nervously. Sensing impending trouble.

"I don't know, you tell me?"  
She responded curtly, and to Lydia's horror, produced her sketchbook in the manner a lawyer would a piece of damming evidence. 

Lydia froze, her eyes darting between the pencil drawing of Beetlejuice's face which smiled up at her from the page, and her surrogate mothers, who was staring at her hard. Awaiting her response.  
"You've been in my room?"  
She yelled, unable to contain her annoyance.  
"And you went through my things?"

"I was worried about you."  
Barbara fired back, her tone firm.  
"And I've good reason to be it seems. Lydia what is this?"  
She waved the book around, holding it by the comer as though she might catch the plague from the offensive material it contained.

"It...it's just a drawing."  
She stated weakly.  
"What's the big deal? I was stuck for ideas for my art project."  
At least that was the truth, but it didn't make her feel any better. She could see how angry Barbara was, though she was doing a good job of containing it. 

"But why in the world would you draw...him? Lydia, Adam and I could've helped you with your art project. Why do this?"

"What does it matter, really?"  
She challenged, tilting her chin upwards slightly.  
"Delia made a sculpture of him, so what's wrong with me doing a drawing?"

Barbara looked shocked now, and seemed temporarily lost for words. Squaring her shoulders, Lydia prepared herself for the worst. She felt terrible for upsetting Barbara, and the only reason she didn't make more of a fuss over the invasion of her privacy was because of the guilt she carried. 

Meanwhile Barbara was struggling to process all the thoughts that were rapidly unfolding in her mind. Sceptical by nature, and now having been put on edge by Juno's ominous words of warning, she hadn't been able to stop herself searching Lydia's room. And the drawings she found, shook her to the very core. Seeing that fiendish man's face again, so well captured too, brought everything back, and made her wonder how Lydia had remembered every detail so clearly. She took this as an indication that he must be playing heavily on her mind, which wasn't a good thing at all. 

"Lydia, honey...you shouldn't be thinking about him. He's evil, and he's in the past. You really need to move on and forget all about him." 

Swallowing down the lump that suddenly formed in her throat, Lydia nodded meekly. The words resounding in her ears. Yes, perhaps it would be for the best if she just tried to forget all about him.  
Eager for the unpleasant confrontation to be over, she muttered an apology and in an attempt to convince both Barbara and herself, she took the sketchbook from her gently and set about tearing out the pages, ripping the drawings to pieces in a show of determination.  
"Forgotten about."  
She declared, keeping her voice as steady as possible as she collected up the shreds from the floor.

Pulling her into a hug, Barbara rubbed her arm gently with her hand comfortingly.  
"It's not that easy, I know. What he did was bound to stay with you, but you will get over it sweetie." 

If only she knew, Lydia thought. She'd never forgive her. She was offering comfort, presuming she was figuratively haunted by the ghoul who had frightened her, when in reality he'd affected her in a completely different way. She was more spellbound than traumatised. And she'd never be able to admit it, to anyone. 

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Later that night, she took it upon herself to creep downstairs undetected, and entered her father's study. He was in there, lounging in his comfortable wing-backed chair, talking excitedly on the phone to that incredibly irritating woman, Jane Butterfield.  
Smiling broadly, engrossed in his conversation with the real estate agent, Charles Deetz acknowledged his daughter with nothing more than a mere nod of the head, as he continued to discuss the details of his latest business venture. From what Lydia had gathered, it was something to do with buying one or two of the houses in town and converting them into apartments to lease out. However, she and her dad had agreed on one thing, that was if Otho had any involvement in the interior designing, then Mrs Butterfield would struggle to find tenants to occupy them. 

Under the pretence of borrowing his 'Hits of the 50's and 60's' CD, whilst he was distracted she had no problem at all slipping open his antique drinks cabinet, and sneaking back out with the first bottle she laid her hand on. Which happened to be an expensive black label whiskey. She didn't make a habit of drinking alcohol, and when she did, whiskey most definitely wouldn't be her first choice. But tonight she didn't care. She wanted to relax. Relax and forget. 

Changing into one of her many black nightshirt's, once back in her room she put on the CD. Thankful that her father had finally converted to discs rather than using cassettes, she flicked through the tracks until one distinctly upbeat R&B song caught her interest....

"I don't know why I love you, but I do. I don't know why I cry so, but I do...I only know I'm lonely, and that I want you only. I don't know why I love you, but I do...."

Swilling back the whiskey straight from the bottle, she did her best to ignore the way the liquid burned her throat. It felt like swallowing hot lava, but she persisted. Taking regular gulps whilst playing the song on repeat....

"...I can't sleep nights because I feel so restless, I don't know what to do I feel so helpless...and since you've been away, I cry both night and day, I don't know why I love you but I do..." 

Closing her eyes, she muttered to herself under her breath.  
"Damn you Beetlejuice."

A few minutes went by, and she sat listening to the words that rung out from the speakers, as if taunting her...

".....Each night I sit alone and tell myself, that I will fall in love with someone else...I guess I'm wasting time, but I've got to clear my mind. I don't know why I love you, but I do."

Suddenly it dawned on her that she'd spoken his name. She'd said it once, all she had to do was say it two more times. Twice more and he'd be with her. Then she wouldn't be alone.  
But no, she couldn't possibly call him back again, she shouldn't want his company. The inner battle raged on within her for a little longer, until she finally gave in to the terrible temptation. Even if she just gave him a piece of her mind for abandoning her, that was a valid enough reason to summon him, wasn't it?  
She rose from her chair unsteadily, feeling quite woozy due to the drink, took another long swig, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and took a deep breath...  
"Beetlejuice....Beetlejuice."

For a moment nothing happened, and she didn't know what to do or think. Then the temperature in the room seemed to drop slightly, and in the blink of an eye he appeared. Tugging the grimy cuffs of his sleeves down into place, his form hadn't even fully materialised, when she threw herself at him. Small wisps of green smoke still radiated about him, as he stood silently for once, stunned by the way she had enveloped him with her arms. 

"Beetlejuice!"  
She exclaimed giddily, smiling up at him fondly. Suddenly unable to suppress the joy she felt at having him return.  
"I missed you. There see, I said it."

"Yeah, and you also just said the B word again, so if you ain't careful you'll miss me some more 'cause you know what happens when you wear my name out." 

Pulling away, she surveyed him closely. Wondering for the umpteenth time why she found him so inexplicably appealing rather than appalling.  
"You left, I thought we had a deal. Where did you go?"

"Hey, the deal still stands. I was called away. What can I say, I'm a popular guy. But I'm back now thanks to you. Damn you must've missed me to call me."  
His keen eyes quickly scanned the room, taking in the bottle of whiskey and her bleary eyes.  
"Shit, this is classic. I'm gone five minutes and you're driven to drink...shucks babe, did ya really miss me that much?" 

"Five minutes? More like five fucking days!"  
She cried incredulously, quite forgetting herself and letting her emotions get the better of her.

"Whoa, easy tiger, you'd better watch the bad language, I might find it arousing. I didn't realise it was five days, okay? Someone calls, I gotta go, and I lose track of time-"

"Who called you?"  
She was asking now, in spite of herself.  
"Was it someone you know?"

"Yeah, Bella. I've known her my whole life."  
He replied with a sly grin, anticipating her next response.

"Bella? Oh, right...a woman. So, wow you've known her all your life. That's a long time. I take it she's a ghost too?"

"Uh huh."

"Right..so, how do you know her? I mean like, is she a friend or..."

"Or what?"  
He persisted, quirking a pointed eyebrow.  
"What are you gettin' at? You trying to suss out if I've been sleazing it up with some other chick? That's cute babe, real cute."

Her porcelain face reddened considerably, and she attempted to look nonchalant.  
"No, I was just asking that's all."

"Yeah you're curious. I know, you keep telling me. But there's nothin' wrong with admitting you're jealous. And you can rest easy, I ain't been screwin' some hot snatch behind your back, I'm a married man."  
He chuckled, conjuring a cigarette and a match.

She watched with avid interest as he struck the match against the zipper on the front of his trousers, and blushed again when he looked up and caught her watching.  
"The cage door ain't open and the beast is asleep, so there's nothin' to see here baby. Sorry to disappoint ya, but you're safe...for now."  
He grinned at her, flashing his crooked teeth. 

"You're such a perv. As if I'd want to...ugh, anyway I'm not jealous."  
She insisted, as she hastily turned the music off, and flicked her small, portable television on. 

"So, what did you do, call me here to watch TV with ya? 'Cause I gotta say, I can think of better things we could be doing."  
He took a long drag on his cigarette, and absentmindedly blew a procession of smoke rings into the air above his head.

Ignoring his remarks, she leaned on her elbow against the bedpost.  
"Neat trick. Can you breath fire too?"  
She quipped.

"I can do pretty much anything, smart-ass. I already told you that. What do you want free entertainment? I'll show ya some real neat tricks if you want, but you've gotta do somethin' for me in return...you gotta entertain me." 

His comment was heavy with suggestive promise, and she felt the all too familiar sensation of her heart beginning to race. Feeling brave due to the false courage the alcohol had given her, she ran her hand through her raven hair, and held his gaze.  
"Okay...only if you can impress me though." 

"Impress? Sure, I can do that. No problem."  
With an abrupt flick of the wrist, he suddenly produced a single pink rose. Bounding over like an excitable puppy, he bowed from the waist, then straightened to proffer the rose to her.

Taken aback by this out of character, romantic gesture, she fought to keep her expression impassive. Gingerly she took hold of the stem, their fingers accidentally brushed and bang! There it was. That unmistakable spark she always felt each time they came into contact. And it was unnerving to say the least.  
"Well, that was unexpected.."  
She dead-panned, indicating to the flower.  
"But I have to say it's a bit clichéd and-"  
Before she could finish, the rose suddenly transformed into a small, pink coloured snake. Wriggling rapidly between her fingers, she had to juggle it between both hands to keep a hold on it.  
"Agh! Beetle-"

"Hey, hey! Less of the name calling."  
He hissed, clamping his hand over her mouth to silence her.  
"And if you're gonna scream, do it quietly. Don't wanna attract any unwanted attention from the stiffs upstairs."

"I'm not going to scream, I'm not afraid of snakes, BJ."  
She managed, once he'd removed his hand from her face.  
"I'm more afraid of losing it, if it gets loose then that will attract unwanted attention."

Scrunching his face as though he'd just caught the scent of something vile, he stared at her askance. Not caring that she was still struggling with the snake.  
"What the hell did you just call me?" 

"Um, BJ....well they are your initials aren't they?"

"They're also the initials for Blow Job."  
He snorted, as he continued to drag on his cigarette, shaking his head in apparent disgust.  
"Fuckin' BJ, I mean c'mon....really?" 

"Look if it stops me saying your name then who cares, right? Now do you think you could maybe help me out here, please?"

"Fine, fine. I'll lose the snake. Figuratively speaking that is, can't have the mega bitch pissing her pants if she finds it slithering through her laundry." 

"No, don't get rid of it...I like it."  
She smiled, admiring the pinkish pattern which was in sharp contrast to the strange chequered black and white of it's underside.  
"I'd like to keep it, but I don't know where I'd put it."

Surprised by her reaction to the snake, he obligingly conjured a small vivarium on her nightstand, complete with the necessary set up.  
"There...consider it an anniversary present. Are you drunk? Because most chicks don't dig snakes, or lizards and those kinds of critters. Hell, how's about I get you a tarantula for your birthday?"  
He sniggered, looking on as she hurried over in order to deposit the reptile into it's new home.

"A tarantula would be great, thanks."  
She replied, without even a hint of sarcasm detectable in her voice.  
"And I'm not like most girls...I just panicked for a minute, he moves so fast I was worried I might drop him."

"He's a she, and corn snakes are like that, move faster than an Olympic runner on crack. Especially the young un's."  
Having joined her at her nightstand, they stood side by side, shoulders touching whilst observing the small creature. 

"She's so pretty...."  
Turning to look at him, she smiled a slightly drunken, yet genuinely warm smile.  
"Thank you...I mean, I know you were probably trying to freak me out, but you've impressed me."

"Yeah? Well you liking it has freaked me out. I should've juiced you a black rose, then you'd have ended up with a rat snake, or Mexican black. Not as pretty or easy to keep as..."  
His words trailed off as he noticed her gazing at him, and the closeness of their proximity. 

Boldly she inclined her head towards his, and placed a gentle kiss on his sallow cheek. He never moved, and when she leaned away, she could see the bewilderment in his face.  
'Wow, you really are drunk. What was that for?"

Frowning slightly, she indicated towards the snake, now slithering around inside the vivarium.  
"For the present."  
She supplied simply. 

"Ah, well this is kind of awkward you see, because I was gonna ask for a kiss in return for the trick. So what'cha gonna do for me now, huh?"  
His voice dropped to a low rumble, which made the hairs at the nape of her neck rise, but not due to fear.

"Well, I...could...I mean, well what do you want me to do?"  
She babbled feebly, her alcohol-fuddled mind refusing to work as it should. 

Taking one final drag on his cigarette before juicing it away, he gazed at her through half-closed lids, his wide, manic grin adding to the surreality of the entire situation.  
"What d'you think?" 

Overcome with madness, she gave in to impulse and did what her sober self would never dare do. Gripping the front of his jacket in determination, he put up no resistance as she pulled him roughly to her, and standing on tip-toes, crushed her lips against his.  
He immediately responded, kissing her back feverishly, clutching her firmly by the waist in a vice-like grip.  
He tasted like treacle and cigarettes, a strange combination that she didn't find off putting at all. To the contrary, as she felt the muscles of his thighs pressing against her own, for a moment she thought she might actually swoon, like one of the characters in her books.  
His lips were demanding, his tongue reaching into her mouth, fighting her own for dominance, and when at last he stopped, it left her gasping for air.  
"We do this.."  
He growled against her ear,  
"...and you're fuckin' mine. You got that?"

And then he was on her, and she felt herself tumbling backwards onto the bed, with him atop her. The breath hitched in her throat, at his weight bearing her back against the soft mattress. Trapped against the solid wall of his chest, exhilarated fear coursed through her. He may have been physically cold to the touch, but a feverish heat now radiated from her. How was he able to raise her temperature so much? This was insane. Insane and terrible. But she couldn't fight it any longer. No one thrilled her like he did, she didn't know what he planned on doing to her, but she was only terrified of coming to her senses and not allowing him to do any of it.

He was waiting for her to tell him to stop, and was astounded when that command never came. He could feel her trembling against him as he ranked above her, his hands roaming downwards, dipping beneath the material of her nightshirt.  
Well she wanted it, she was going to get it. He thought to himself with a twisted smile. Time for her to discover why he was the ghost with the most. 

She held her breath, and perceptibly jumped at the touch of his cold fingers on her bare thighs. Purposely dragging the tips of his pointed nails along her skin, she shuddered at the surprisingly sensual feeling. And then he was brutalising her lips again, kissing her ardently whilst his hands seemed to be everywhere at once.  
The dual erotic sensations made her head spin, as one hand roved upwards over her stomach, then rib cage, she felt his thumb brush against the underside of her breast and quivered. Simultaneously the other hand hovered over the thin material of her underwear. Shivering with anticipation, she found herself silently willing his hands to do their worst. She craved his forbidden touch, and she'd never felt so turned on before. Brett had never made her feel like this, and any sexual encounter she'd shared with him, now paled in comparison.

As if sensing her need, he carefully placed his index finger against her, the simple touch brought her hips up, but he held her firmly in place, persisting as he gently dragged his finger along the centre of her most intimate area, before gliding it diagonally in a slow, circular motion across the surface of her panties.  
To her shame, she moaned into his mouth, much to his amusement.  
He ceased his tantalising assault on her lips, and buried his face against the curve of her shoulder, smiling sinfully. He could smell the intoxicating scent of her fear, combined with something else....arousal. Feeling the soft swell of her breast against his other hand, he was unable to resist the urge, and gently clasped it in his palm.

Under normal circumstances, she ought to be screaming for help, but instead she had to bite her lip hard to prevent herself screaming from pleasure, as he gently caressed her beneath the material of her nightshirt. His skin was rough on her's, adding to the sensory overload, and as his thumb and forefinger found the soft nub of her nipple, teasing it so it rose to greet his touch, she almost flew off the bed. His other hand was far from idle, as he relentlessly continued to stroke, and rub against her crotch, before slipping his fingers beneath the soft cotton, dipping down to meet with their wet, warm target. She choked out a stifled gasp.  
"Oh god!"

"Nope, just me."  
He retorted dryly,  
"But as good as, baby."

The tightening she felt deep inside increased, and her entire surroundings fell out of focus. The outside world ceased to exist, as the pure, unadulterated pleasure began to consume her. Unlike her ex boyfriend, who's caresses were rough, hurried and clumsy in comparison, Beetlejuice's expert touch was not that of a novice. He was precise, surprisingly gentle and gloriously skilled. And needless to say, as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to control herself but failing miserably, it didn't take long before the inimitable, sweet tension she felt building, erupted in an earth shattering climax.  
She let out a strangled cry, clutching his shoulders tightly as the wave of euphoria swept her away, threatening to drown her. 

"That's my girl."  
He whispered hoarsely, before pressing a kiss to her burning forehead.  
His trousers had grown increasingly uncomfortable and tight around the crotch area as a result of his own arousal. Her breast felt hot and heavy in his hand, and his other was now damp, along with her underwear, due to him having skilfully pushed her into sweet oblivion. The feeling of satisfaction and empowerment was heady indeed, but he'd already decided he wasn't going to fully take advantage of the situation. She had been drinking after all, and he wanted her to be stone cold sober when he took her, in order for her to fully enjoy the ride, and to guarantee her willingness. He knew how getting wasted could impair one's judgement. So his own maddening want and need would have to wait...for now.

He released her from his clutches, crudely licking his fingers before coarsely wiping his hand on his suit, and then rose from the bed. Tugging at his trousers and willing his erection away, he conjured a lit cigarette and picked up the bottle of whiskey. 

Lydia sat herself up slowly, legs still trembling, she blinked at him through the post-orgasmic haze. Crippled with embarrassment, she also felt a slight twinge of shame. How could that have happened? She'd never experienced anything like it, even when touching herself, which she had on occasion. The intensity of what he'd done to her was mind blowing. He, of all people...had proved that sexual contact wasn't completely overrated after all. But now what? Where on earth did they go from here, she wondered. 

Striding back over to the bed, he flung himself down heavily beside her, nonchalant as though nothing had happened. Taking the cigarette from his purple lips, he offered it to her. She accepted it gratefully, taking a long, hard drag on it as she watched him glug from the bottle.  
Spluttering suddenly due to the strength of the cigarette, he patted her, albeit unnecessarily forcefully, on the back.  
"Ugh, what are these made from? Dynamite?"

"Asbestos."  
He joked.  
"I smoke roll your own, uranium rods."

"They might as well be."

Passing her the whiskey, she raised the bottle to her mouth and took a sip, it's contents immediately setting her mouth on fire.

"So.."  
He reached out unexpectedly and carelessly pulled her to him, almost causing her to spill the drink all over herself. He held her tightly, bringing her to rest back against his chest, and she stared up at him wide eyed.  
"D'ya wanna watch TV now?"


	9. Conversations and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the influence of alcohol, Lydia and Beetlejuice continue to grow closer after they open up to each other, each of them sharing secrets from their past.  
> Meanwhile Barbara and Adam make some shocking discoveries of their own.
> 
> Angst and fluff ahead..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Authors Note**  
> So, this chapter is all angst and fluff, but I really hope you all enjoy. The clue is in the title, so you kinda know what to expect. xD  
> Also, I just want to mention it'll be a while before I can work on the next instalment. Unfortunately I'm having surgery on my eyes, so I won't be able to see in order to read and write for a while. I'm so sorry, it really sucks. I'm so keen to carry on with this fic. So I apologise in advance for the upcoming delay, and I hope you won't be disheartened by it. I promise I won't let this story die. I will continue with it as soon as possible. 
> 
> As usual, massive thanks for all your views/comments/kudos. You guys are truly fantastic.
> 
> ....one last thing, the movie featured in this chapter is 'The Horror of Frankenstein' starring Ralph Bates. Just in case you're curious xD

**********************************

"Did you say this was your favourite movie?"  
Beetlejuice stretched, and the sound of several bones cracking accompanied his actions, making Lydia flinch.

"No, I said it was one of my favourite's. My tastes are varied but I love these old horror movies, and this one, the 'horror of Frankenstein' is so good."

"You mean in a 'it's so bad it's good' kinda way? Like me?"  
He mused, as if to himself.

"No. Well yeah, maybe."

"What, s'ya don't think I'm bad?"  
He frowned, sounding rather deflated.

"No I wasn't talking about you, I meant these Hammer Horror movies. They're classic."  
She pointed out.

"Yeah, kinda like me as well."

Shifting slightly in order to make herself more comfortable, she chanced a look in his direction. Despite feeling decidedly more at ease thanks to the alcohol, she was still struggling with feelings of awkwardness after what had happened between them earlier.

"No, I mean they're good."  
She continued, still focusing on the subject in hand.

"Gotta say I think they're pretty fuckin' bad, but that's what makes 'em good."  
Clasping the glass bottle in his deathly hand, he lifted it to his lips and drained the remnants of it's contents. 

"Yeah I guess I know what you mean. They're cheesy and dated now, and so clichéd it hurts, but they're not like 'bad' bad." 

"But it's the bad clichés that make 'em good, and not just 'bad' bad.."  
He pointed a long finger at her, almost accusingly.  
"...you just don't know what's good for bad."

Pouting slightly, Lydia's small brow furrowed in confusion.  
"Okay this conversation is starting to hurt my brain."

"Nope, that'll be the liquor. You'll feel as rough as poor old Frankie there, come the mornin'"  
He sniggered, indicating towards the television screen.

"It is the morning now, it's passed midnight. And Frankie, um I mean Frankenstein, is the doctor not the monster. Why does everyone always get that mixed up? Have you never read the book?"  
She whined, drunkenly.

Raising a slanted eyebrow, he feigned offence.  
"Oh, so 'cause I'm dead ya' just presume I read all these creepy horror stories and shit? Like, 'ooooh, I'm a ghost, so I just hang out in my tomb, watching Tales from the Crypt'.." 

"No, not at all. It's just that book is a literally classic..."  
She paused, noticing her own mistake.  
"I mean literary, it's a literary classic." 

"Hey, have you forgot who you're talkin' to here? I was around when the damn book was written, I could've bought a copy and had the chick autograph it if I wanted. But I gotta tell ya', reality is far fuckin' creepier than any work of fiction. Especially when you're an afterlife kid. So, a story about some patchwork stiff having a lightning bolt shoved up his ass, then going on a killer rampage because of identity issues, didn't really spook me all that much." 

Twisting her body around in order to look at him fully, her chocolate eyes rounded in awe. The film she loved so much, now fading into nothing more than background noise.  
"God! You really are that old. That's amazing. What was life like back then?"

He shot her a bemused look, and she clamped her hand to her mouth, embarrassed by her obvious faux pas.  
"Sorry, I mean...um..existence? What was it like being around during that time? It must've been incredible, what with Mary Shelly, and Byron-"

"Let me just stop ya right there before you get all carried away. It wasn't all that excitin' actually. All powdered wigs, and syphilis, pretentious pricks, and snobby sluts from what I saw of it, so I didn't hang around long. It was a real drag."  
He yawned, his sallow skin stretching tight over his high cheekbones. 

"So, now you've ruined the concept of Frankenstein for me forever, tell me something....you know how you mentioned being over six hundred years old?"

"Uh huh.."

"Well, when exactly were you born?"  
She asked cautiously, hoping he wouldn't become aggrieved by her questioning. But they did have an agreement in place now, so that did afford her some leeway. 

"Which time?"  
He asked distractedly, and immediately regretted it, the urge to kick himself up the ass was almost excruciating. Never before had his quick wits and smart mouth failed him so badly, and he cursed himself under his breath. He'd let his guard down, his defences had slipped. Juno would have a field day with him now, he'd be strung up by the balls in front of the counsel and beaten like a piñata. 

Lydia meanwhile, was on her knees, her excitement barely containable. She reminded him of an inquisitive child that had just been told unicorns really existed, and that they fart rainbows and shit glitter.  
"You mean you've been reincarnated? So that's an actual real thing? God! This is amazing!"

"Alright, alright. So it's a real thing, no need to cream over it."  
He remarked crudely with a quirk of the lip.  
"Just don't fuckin' go around advertising it okay? You breathers' aren't supposed to know, and if anyone finds out I told 'ya then it's my balls on the chopping block."

"Okay, I won't say anything to anybody. But that's just...wow. I can't believe it."  
She fell silent for a moment, whilst digesting this new information. He could practically see the cogs turning inside her mind, and knew at least a dozen or so questions would be heading his way real soon.  
"How many times have you been born again?"  
She asked after a long pause, proving his suspicions right. 

Heaving a huge sigh, his head lolled back against the pillows in an attempt to display his exasperation. He was preparing a snarky comeback when he suddenly remembered the deal they'd struck, and his sister's words of advice echoed around inside his head. Maybe opening up, just a little, wouldn't do any harm. But it wasn't something he was accustomed to doing. Still, he might as well just get it all out of the way, then surely she'd run out of questions to ask at some point.  
"Three times..."  
He replied eventually, and she could hear the reluctance in his voice.  
"...and before you ask, don't bother I'll tell ya. My first time was in 1383, yeah the good old middle ages, they were loads'a fun. I managed to swerve the black death, which pretty much wiped out most of Europe, but I guess I got lucky, and enjoyed a long life of sinful debauchery. That is until I got finished off by accidental lead poisoning. It was a common fuckin' hazard back then. Those idiots used to coat cups, tiles, and plates in that shit. Which ain't gonna end well for anybody...Then my next go was in 1839, gotta say I didn't last too long that time, thanks to cholera seeing me off at the ripe old age of fifteen. Again, drinking filthy water from the Thames ain't a bright idea. But hey, shit happens, right?"

Stunned into silence, Lydia's excited expression had now been replaced by one of utter horror. She felt suddenly incredibly sad on his behalf, and her expressive eyes gave her away.

"Don't.."  
He warned, frowning deeply at her and waggling his finger in her face.  
"Don't be sorry for me. Shit, I can read you like a book. That's how people take advantage, d'ya know that? But don't you dare feel pity for me, I don't need it or want it."

She swallowed, trying to process everything he'd just told her. She wanted to hug him, but didn't dare. Yet still the urge to try and comfort him even though he apparently didn't need it, was overwhelming.  
"I'm sorry."  
She croaked, somewhat feebly.

"Why?"  
He snorted loudly,  
"It's not your fault."

"No but, it's just so...sad, and horrible. I mean, lead poisoning and cholera? And you were so young the second time around, it's awful."

"No, it's life."  
He corrected,  
"Like I said, shit happens. It happens all the goddamn time. It's all part of the never ending cycle. People are born, they live, and then they die of somethin' or another. Like your buddies upstairs, when it's your time it's your time. No point cryin' over it." 

"I guess."  
She responded in a small voice.  
"But what about your third life? Does everybody get three?"

Visibly bristling, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck with a long fingernail.  
"The last time I was reborn was in 1920, and I bit the dust in 1956....And no, you're supposed to get twelve, twelve shots at it...one for each sign of the fuckin' zodiac or some astrology bullshit."

"Really? But you've only lived three lives, does that mean you'll be reincarnated again?"

"No, three's the limit for me babe. It's my magic number...and can you stop using that word 'reincarnation'? It's so typically fuckin' mortal."

"Sorry, but I am mortal."  
She reminded him with an almost apologetic smile.  
"So how come you only get three lives when everyone else gets twelve?"

"Because the last time, instead of shit happening to me, I happened to shit."  
He forced a strained laugh, but it was tinged with bitterness.  
"And I didn't say everyone gets twelve, I said you're supposed to."

Blinking rapidly as she analysed the hidden meaning behind his cryptic words, a sudden realisation struck her and for a minute she felt as if she herself had swallowed a lead weight.  
"You happened to shit....does that mean you...killed yourself?"

He didn't answer, and purposely made a point of avoiding her eyes. Making her feel sick, and sad all at once, and it wasn't due to the whiskey she'd drank.  
"That's why you asked.."  
She pondered aloud.

"Asked what?"  
He barked.

"When we first met. I said I wanted in, you know...to be dead. And you asked why."

"Yeah 'cause it's a stupid-ass thing to want."

"Yeah but, you actually seemed to care...I mean, I know how ridiculous that sounds, but when you asked me why, for a split second you sounded and looked concerned."  
She recalled, hoping her emotions wouldn't get the better of her. She felt certain that he'd be offended if she were to start crying.

"Concerned? Pfft. You kids and your imaginations....anyway if I did, then it was only 'cause I know first hand how insufferable the afterlife is."  
He lied, reluctant to admit she was right, he slipped on his usual mask of indifference.  
"Bureaucracy bullshit, that's what it is. It's fuckin' soul destroying babe. Soul destroying." 

"Otho once mentioned that people who commit suicide have to become civil servants on the other side."

Conjuring a lit cigarette, Beetlejuice looked genuinely surprised by this piece of information.  
"What, round boy? He said that? Shit, the guy's smarter than he looks. I could've sworn when I looked into those piggy eyes I saw straight to the back of his head." 

Lydia giggled, grateful for the lift in mood, but her relief was to be short lived, as he took a slow drag on his cigarette, eyeing her steadily.  
"So, uh, what's the story with you and that Brett guy?"

Perceptibly shuddering, she was about to tell him she didn't want to discuss it, when she met his eyes and was struck by the rawness she saw there, making her hesitate. He'd just bared his soul to her, as it were, he'd recounted some of the horrors from his past, and although she longed to press him further on the subject of reincarnation, and the circumstances surrounding his suicide, she sensed that he'd shared enough for now.  
The least she owed him was some insight into her own past, and in comparison, it wasn't nearly as traumatising as what he'd endured during his lifetimes.  
"Brett...hmm, well. When I first met him, he had this long black hair, an earring, and he wore eyeliner."

"So he's more of a pirate than a surfer dude?"  
He chuckled, but his laughter quickly dispersed when she shot him a withering look. 

"I suppose I thought he was some kind of kindred spirit, I know that sounds lame but he was like a social outsider too."  
She continued apprehensively, affixing her eyes on the middle distance.  
"Delia's on the local arts committee with his mom. We met at one of their soirée's, and we began hanging out after school. He goes to the all boys school on the other side of town-"

"You mean they still have separate schools in this shitty town? Even now after all this time?"  
He interrupted, quizzically. Completely throwing her for a moment.

"Um, yes. How do you know about that?"

"Nuthin' it don't matter, carry on."  
He urged, gesturing wildly with his hands, prompting her to continue. 

"Okaaay...well anyway, we got along, and I liked him a lot. He played guitar and would write me songs-"

"Aww hell, don't tell me you fell for that old bunch of crap?"  
He cut in again, unable to remain silent even though it wasn't for want of trying.  
"That's one of the oldest tricks in the book, write a chick some poetry, play a poxy musical instrument and voilà! Home run! Her pants practically fall off by themselves."

"Ugh, well I was obviously gullible, but he seemed genuine enough at the time. I still like to believe that he just changed, and didn't have it all planned from the start."  
Laying down now on her side of the bed, she tucked a slim arm beneath her pillows, and brought her knees up towards her chest defensively. Subconsciously mimicking the foetal position.  
"After a while he began to change, he ditched the hair dye and eyeliner, got a stupid haircut and started dressing differently. Which was his choice, but he wanted me to do the same...he kept dropping hints about how I'd be prettier if I didn't look so sombre, and he even bought me a few things that were definitely not my style." 

"He said that? Dick. Well, I hope you told him to kiss your ass."

"Not exactly. But I wasn't going to change just to fit in with his new image overhaul, and the idiot friends he'd made. So I wasn't willing to budge."

"So what happened then? Was that when he traded you in for the air head cheerleader?"  
Following her lead, he lay down opposite her, mirroring her position on the bed. Had she not been quite so tipsy and tired, she would've objected to his dirty great boots scuffing up her bedclothes, but at that moment in time she couldn't have cared less. 

"No. He, well...other stuff happened before that."  
She admitted quietly, feeling the old sting of humiliation flush her cheeks.  
"First he sort of pushed me into the whole sex thing...and then there was the pictures."

"Pictures?"  
He echoed, sucking on his cigarette with growing unease. He was almost starting to wish he hadn't opened up this particular can of worms now. It was bound to be upsetting for her, and to his surprise, his own agitation was increasing also.  
"And what'd ya mean by pushed you into the sex stuff? Was the jerk just trying his luck, or was he like full-on pressurising ya?"

Taking a deep breath, Lydia closed her eyes now in embarrassment.  
"He did pressure me, but I could've stood my ground instead of just giving in. And the picture thing, he expressed an interest in photography. I used to help him and give him pointers. He said I was beautiful, and managed to persuade me to pose for him...you know, au naturel."

An unfamiliar feeling began twisting inside of Beetlejuice's gut, a feeling that could only be defined as inexplicable jealousy. Had his eyes not been green already, then they would've turned green with envy. And he was neither wiling, nor sober enough to examine the reasons behind it.  
"You mean you let the prick take naked photographs of you? Don't dress it up, it is what it is."  
He huffed, gruffly. 

Her eyes snapped open, and she frowned at him. Her voice now threatening to crack with emotion.  
"Okay, so I was an idiot. I know this now. But at the time, we'd gotten close over the period of a whole year, I slept with him once, I thought he loved me, and I trusted him. How was I to know he'd seduced me for a bet? And then took pictures to show to his friends, like some sordid, twisted souvenir or proof. Like 'here's the weird frigid girl, look what I got her to do, aren't I fucking cool'." 

"Whoa! Wait a second there, rewind..."  
He snapped sharply, and his hands balled into fists, his sharp nails digging into his palms would've drawn blood had it been possible.  
"...he did what?!"

Startled by the sudden violence in his tone, Lydia fidgeted nervously. Confused by his reaction.  
"Well, I should've expected it really. Like you said before, I fell for his false flattery and charm. I was a naive imbecile-"

"Don't you fuckin' dare blame yourself, you better cancel that crap right now, I don't wanna hear it. Just 'cause you're a little wet behind the ears doesn't mean you deserve to be treated like shit, okay? Don't make excuses for the cock-juggling thunder-cunt."  
He raged, the yellow flecks in his eyes expanded and glowed, making them look fierce and frightening.

"O-okay."  
She stammered nervously, and for a fleeting moment she panicked, as the realisation struck her once again that this wild supernatural force of nature, this unpredictable, potentially hazardous entity, was free to run rampant at will, and the slight prickle of fear danced across her skin, making her tingle all over.

"D'ya want me to go rip his dick off for 'ya?"  
He was asking now, brusquely juicing his cigarette away, and she swore she could hear his teeth grinding. 

"No. He's really not even worth the effort."  
She couldn't help but smile slightly at his offer, and judging by the crazed look on his face, she wouldn't have put it passed him to actually do such a thing.  
"But thank you for caring."

For want of something better to do, he reached out and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, as though trying to convey some form of unspoken comfort without invading her personal space, which she sensed and gladly accepted. But for once she silently longed for closeness, for him to be hands-on, and enfold her roughly in his arms.  
Straightening her legs, she gently draped her arm across his waist.  
Needing no further prompting, he reciprocated the gesture by wrapping a strong arm around her, bringing her closer, enabling her to tuck her head beneath his chin, burying her face against his chest.  
They lay for several minutes, each of them in quiet contemplation, as the dramatic music and blood-curdling screams continued to ring out from the television.

"You know, in one of those crazy dreams I had of you, there was this weird bull guy who wanted to marry me.."  
She mumbled, somewhat incoherently now.  
"...but you came and rescued me."

"Yeah?"  
He sniggered, and playfully jabbed her in the ribs, causing her to squirm slightly.  
"Well that's obviously 'cause I was stoppin' you from becoming a bigamist." 

She emitted a stifled laugh, and contentedly breathed in his earthy scent.  
"I should really send you back."  
She voiced her thoughts aloud, her eyes now growing increasingly heavy. 

"You're probably right, but that doesn't mean you have to."  
He retorted dryly, hoping with every fibre of his being that she wouldn't. He was liking this a lot. The freedom, and the unexpected benefits that were accompanying it.

"And if I leave you out, where are going to sleep?"

"Uh, let's see, let me think, um' how about under the sink?"  
His tone was heavily laden with playful sarcasm, and feigned hurt.  
"I mean, you're fuckin' kiddin' me right? You let me play with your pussy, but you ain't up for sharing a bed. Now there's gratitude for you. That's ruthless babe, fuckin' ruthless."

"Agh, BJ...can you please not be so crass?"  
Thankful that he couldn't see her blushes, she cringed at his coarseness.  
"I just think if you're going to stay out, then it might be best if you sleep elsewhere...like on the floor. "

"Why though, dont'cha trust yourself to keep your hands off me, huh? Well that's understandable, but shucks...we are married after all."

"Oh, and no spitting, okay? Or any other nastiness like that.."

"Yeah yeah, and I promise not to piss up the furniture, or shit on the rug either."

"...And you should really sleep on the floor...because..."  
Her words dissolved now, as she drifted off into a soft slumber.

"Yeah, and when have I ever done anything I should do?"  
He scoffed, smiling against her hair.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

The following morning she awoke with a start, wincing slightly at the midwinter sun that streamed in through the cracks in her burgundy drapes, assaulting her sensitive eyes with it's brightness.  
Her head felt like cotton wool, and her mouth felt as though she'd been eating sandpaper in her sleep.  
She shifted slightly, then all at once became aware of someone behind her, she could feel their body lay against her back. It felt decidedly cold, and suddenly the events that had taken place the previous night gradually came seeping back, like sand through an hourglass.  
Oh god, she'd called his name. She'd called his name and not put him back. And he was in bed with her. They'd somehow fallen asleep together, it hadn't been a dream.  
Her heavy eyes flicked towards her nightstand, and came to rest on the small pink snake, coiled up quietly against the glass of the small vivarium. That hadn't been a dream either. Oh dear god, how was she going to explain that to her father and Delia?  
But, most importantly....she gingerly lifted the cover, and pulled up her nightshirt, revealing a trail of red scratches, which stood out vividly against her milky white thighs. She took a sharp intake of breath. Oh god in heaven, that had really happened too. They'd kissed and he'd touched her in the most intimate of ways. Oh god, oh god, oh god...

Just then she felt him stir behind her, and she hesitantly turned in the bed. He hadn't slept on the floor. He was in her bed, actually in it. He was wearing his robe now. And they'd been spooning...  
Silently she prayed that he wasn't completely naked beneath that robe, the very thought of it terrified and tantalised her in equal measures. And she reproached herself for harbouring such inappropriate thoughts. This wasn't supposed to be happening, this hadn't happened in her dreams. She couldn't possibly be sexually attracted to him. It was wrong. So wrong.

Prising open a dark eyelid, he grinned at her impishly.  
"Sleep well honey? How's your head? I'll bet'cha feeling like death, huh? If that's the case you can always feel me."

Sitting up abruptly, and feeling strangely self conscious about how she looked, she ran her hands through her tousled hair. Smoothing it down as best she could. Damn, she really shouldn't care how she looked. She'd never experienced this before. She'd never shared her bed with a man before over night.  
"You, you're not on the floor."  
She remarked needlessly, painfully aware of how much she sounded like Delia.

"Ten outta ten for observation. See, I knew you were bright, that's why I married you. I mean boy can I pick 'em, how lucky am I? My wife's got brains as well as beauty. But what's the big deal anyway? I behaved didn't I? I didn't fondle you in your sleep. I'd rather save that for when you're awake, then you can fully appreciate it, and thank me afterwards."  
He winked at her, and she felt the heat rise in her face.

"Beetle-uh, I mean BJ.."  
She corrected herself quickly.  
"Can you just, stop with the sexual stuff, for one minute...please? It makes it hard for me to focus, and it's kind of awkward." 

"Well please can you just stop calling me fuckin' BJ?"  
He fired back, propping himself up on one elbow.  
"And I'll tell you what's hard and awkward babe...this hard on I got here, thanks to waking up with your ass against my dick-"

"Oh god!"  
She cried, her face turning crimson as her embarrassment cranked up yet another notch.  
"See, this is why you should've slept on the floor."

"But where's the fun in that?"  
He rasped, edging closer in the bed.  
"Now if you ain't gonna help me out here with this..."  
He gestured rudely towards his crotch.  
"...then why don't you toddle off and have a shower or whatever, so I can take care of it myself. Or let me join you in the bathroom, and that'll be even better-"

"No!"  
Raising a finger, she hastily pressed it to his dry lips. Desperately fighting to keep the smile from her lips. As mortified as she was about everything, she couldn't help wanting to laugh at his antics and the insanity of the entire situation.  
"You're incorrigible."

She slowly moved her finger away, and he mimicked the action of biting it, before adding..  
"Yeah and ya' love it really, you know you do."

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Meanwhile upstairs, Barbara was searching through the drawer of the new workbench as Adam sat on the couch nearby, looking on with nagging apprehension.  
"Barb, is this really necessary? I mean, are you sure?"

"Oh Adam, I don't want to do this, believe me. But I don't think we have a choice. I know I can feel something isn't right...and Juno said to trust my instincts-"

"She actually advised us to develop our senses, not so much go off instincts. Honey I'm not saying I don't have faith in you, but I'm sure you're just worrying over nothing."

Finally her hands fell on the small piece of chalk she had been looking for, and she didn't hesitate in grasping it between her thumb and forefinger.  
"I hope you're right Adam. But I need to be sure.."  
She exclaimed, as she headed towards the bare brick wall.  
"I'm certain I can sense...something...and there's only one thing for it. We have to tell Juno, maybe she can help us get to the bottom of it."  
Filled with determination, she re-drew over the previous outline that Adam had drawn so long ago, tracing over the faded chalk lines of the door, then knocked three times on the brick with such force that it hurt her knuckles.

Within moments a rumbling ensued, as the wall began to shudder, sending up small clouds of dust as the cement was shaken loose. Adam hesitantly joined her now, and bathed in the green light that filled the room as the door creaked open, the pair stepped through the gateway into the portal of the Neitherworld. 

Upon entering the waiting room, Barbara instinctively shrunk away from some of the horrors that greeted them. Not recognising any of the new occupants, it was easy to blanch at some of the new, bizarre and gruesome sights. The entire room looked like a gathering of people in Halloween fancy dress, and Adam had to quietly remind Barbara that everyone's appearance and afterlife experience were dependant on how they lived and died. He'd managed to understand enough of the handbook to know that it varied greatly from person to person, along with limitations and abilities, and sometimes how you looked once deceased bore no great resemblance to how you'd met your demise. There were however, some that resembled the grisly way in which they'd departed, only all too graphically..

Approaching the counter, the pair were relieved to see at least one familiar face, the receptionist whom they knew only as Miss Argentina, due to the beauty contest sash she still wore with pride.  
Glancing up, she regarded the couple with the usual amount of disdainful irritation as she always afforded them.  
"Back so soon? I presume you don't have an appointment?"

"Back so soon? It's been two years."  
Barbara pointed out defensively.

The young woman openly scoffed, as she continued shuffling the papers in her hands.  
"Nine actually, but you still have 123 years to go in living time, before you can move on. You're going to use up all of your help vouchers, and might I remind you that you're only permitted three appointments per past-lifetime with your caseworker."

"Yes but this is an emergency."  
Barbara insisted.

"Hmm, it always is."

Just then as if from nowhere, the small figure of Juno appeared in the office behind the receptionist. Her expression even more grave than usual.  
"It's alright Martina, I've been expecting them.."  
She announced, to the surprise of all three of them.  
"You two, get in here."

They both glanced towards the door which led to the corridor, and Juno immediately read their minds.  
"Don't waste time walking around, use your abilities, you're ghosts! Do what ghosts do, walk through the damn wall."  
She instructed impatiently. 

Ignoring Miss Argentina's smirking face, Adam cautiously took hold of Barbara's hand in his own, and proceeded to step through the wall, guiding his wife as he went. Feeling nothing but a strange, sudden flip of the stomach, like one feels when you drive up and over a dip in the road, they both found themselves on the opposite side. 

"See that wasn't so bad was it? Why waste time using corridors when you can take a short cut? Follow me, and keep up."  
She barked, heading through the hustled and bustle of the office, towards the back stairs.

"You've been expecting us?"  
Adam enquired, raising his voice in order to be heard over the noise of telephones ringing, and co workers chattering. 

"Of course I was, I'm just surprised it's taken you this long. I should've stepped in sooner but I can't keep intervening, it's my ass on the line you see, I can't keep paying house calls. Each client is only allocated three."  
She replied gruffly, as she ascended the stairs to the next floor.

"Yes but you've only visited us twice, which means we're still allowed another one."  
Barbara pointed out, then jumped slightly as Juno halted abruptly in order to turn and face them.

"I can't keep popping in on you flippantly like that, not when there's a strong chance you're going to need me at a later date. And I mean, really need me. That's your problem, you can't handle anything by yourselves."  
She paused briefly, taking a slow drag on her cigarette.  
"However on this occasion, you're going to need all the help you can get." 

"What on earth does that mean?"

Continuing up the stairs, they reached the cramped office and filed inside.  
"Sit down."  
She commanded, as she pulled the door shut behind them.

Obediently, Adam and Barbara did as instructed, shooting a nervous glance at each other.  
"What's all this about?"  
Adam ventured, leaning forwards slightly in the chair.

"What do you think it's about?"  
Juno fired back as she seated herself behind her desk. Almost disappearing behind a mountain of paperwork.

"Beetle....uh, I mean, him?"  
He quickly corrected himself when Barbara hurriedly reached out to cover his mouth. 

"Well of course it is. What do you think I'd want to discuss with you? Your favourite colour?"

"I'm sure he's in our house."  
Barbara blurted out suddenly, paying no attention to Juno's harsh sarcasm.

"D'you think?"  
The elderly woman retorted sardonically.  
"I told you to be on your guard and have your wits about you, but only now that things have gotten this bad have you noticed...and you.."  
She pointed an accusing finger at Adam.  
"You haven't even noticed any shift in the atmosphere at all."

He made to respond, but Barbara was quick to jump in.  
"What do you mean by things have gotten bad? Juno, what's been happening?"

Taking another drag on her cigarette, the smoke puthered out through her unsightly neck wound, as she affixed the pair with her steely gaze.  
"I love how I have to bring you up to speed on what's been going on inside of your house." 

Shifting uneasily in her seat, Barbara subconsciously gripped onto the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white.  
"Please, just tell us and put us out of our misery."  
She begged, brows drawing together in apprehension.

"If he's in our house then he's been awfully quiet."  
Adam piped up, twitching nervously. Unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear whatever revelations Juno was about to disclose.

"Oh well he will be when he's got a distraction. Entertainment you might say. Remember the brothel last time? It's relatively easy to keep him preoccupied."

"So what distractions has he had?"

"Oh no! Not Lydia? It is, isn't it?"  
Barbara cried in anguish, her dark eyes now pooling with tears.

"What?"  
Adam gasped, visibly shaken.  
"I swear if he's laid one filthy hand on her I'll..."

"You'll what?"  
Juno prompted, leaning back in her swivel chair.  
"He's a level five poltergeist, with hundreds of years haunting experience. Level five's are dangerous enough as it is, but his power extends far beyond animating objects, possession, and altering the reality around him. He's existed in several lifetimes, and has the ability to actually remember it. He could grind you to dust under his damn boot and he'd laugh while doing it...and I'd probably laugh along, at your stupidity for even attempting to take him on by yourself."

Falling silent now, distinctly crestfallen, Adam pulled at the collar of his shirt in nervous agitation. 

"And, as far as the Deetz girl goes, she's not without blame. You could say she's been a willing distraction, contentedly providing him with the sort of entertainment he thrives on."

Barbara's mouth fell open, and she automatically clutched her stomach, feeling utterly sickened.  
Beside her, Adam was on his feet now, completely aghast.  
"Are you implying that Lydia...that she...that he and her?"  
He stammered, too flummoxed to even string a sentence together, but also reluctant to vocalise what was too shocking and disgusting to even contemplate, let alone speak of.

"She wouldn't."  
Barbara was saying now, though secretly trying to convince herself as well as their caseworker.  
"She wouldn't want to associate with the likes of that slime ball. She's too intelligent to get herself mixed up with him. I know her, she just wouldn't. He must've threatened her, or something."

"Look she's a young, impressionable girl, a con artist like him could easily take advantage."  
Moving forwards to lean on the desk, Juno waved the hand that clutched her cigarette, looking deep in thought.  
"But.....for whatever reason, some women are just drawn to him. Just ask our own little Martina of Argentina on your way out, she's one of many in a long line that seem unable to resist his charms."

"But Lydia isn't dead!"

"And that's precisely why he has his sights set on her. A living being, she's his ticket to freedom you see. That's what that whole wedding farce was about."  
The elderly ghost explained, with as much patience as she could muster.  
"If she accepted the ring, and she accepts him, then he's free from any restraints that bind him to the Neitherworld. And believe me, unleashing him amongst the living is not an option. He behaves like a petulant child at best, but behind all that bravado lies a seriously damaged soul. And that makes him an even greater threat."

"But why Lydia? Can't he harass someone else instead? He must've done plenty of haunting in his time, so are you telling me he goes around trying to bully every vulnerable girl he stumbles across into marriage? Or has he honed in on her, singling her out for some specific reason?"  
Barbara was crying now, silent tears staining her pained face, as her overactive, suspicious mind rocketed into over-drive.

"Well it's funny you should bring that up...maybe your senses are finally developing, and perhaps you're one of the telepaths because I thought it was too much of a coincidence as well. So I checked her file, and sure enough she's been around before, and her records have been left blank...which can only mean one thing."  
She spoke cryptically, and the ghost couple instinctively reached for each other's hand. Preparing themselves for the worst, and attempting to offer each other some small fraction of comfort and strength.

"What does it mean?"  
Adam asked, reluctance and feelings of nausea contorting his stomach into knots.

"Call it a twist of fate, or whatever you like, but it means that in her past life, Lydia was the cause of his death."

Barbara's grip on her husband's hand tightened painfully, and despite her already being dead, she swore she felt an icy chill sweep over her, making her shudder violently.  
"I want him gone, Juno."  
She declared boldly.  
"I don't care what it takes, he needs to be gone from her life, for good. So please...help us get rid of him once and for all."


	10. Dream Sex, Deals and Drawings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Beetlejuice and Lydia are forced to confront faces from their respective pasts.  
> Amidst it all, sexual tensions are rising. ruffling BJ's feathers in more ways than one.  
> Barbara inadvertently causes him to question the small matter of the wedding ring, whilst meanwhile things are about to get awkward for Lydia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Authors Note**  
> As usual, huge thank you to everyone for sticking with this story. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. And all I'm going to say is...steamy scene ahead. So you have been warned! ;) 
> 
> *********************

Beetlejuice peeled open his heavy black eyelids. Still feeling groggy and disorientated from sleep. The sleep of the dead, he smirked to himself.  
Outside, the morning was overcast. Slivers of grey light filtered in through the gaps in Lydia's thick, burgundy drapes, which served well as blackout blinds. Keeping the room mostly cloaked in darkness.  
Flopping a stripped arm over to the side of the bed where she should be, he found nothing but pillow and linen. No smart ass. Edgar Alan Poe's daughter is gone. And the sudden panic he felt, was disturbing. Why should it bother him where she was? He didn't really give a rats ass. Did he? The uneasiness now gnawing at his rotten insides, suggested, or rather screamed, the he did. 

Heaving himself up on the bed, he stretched and cracked his back before leaning against the headboard. His mind still very much on her, his head seemed to be throbbing now. What were the chances of being dead, and still getting headaches? The afterlife really did suck just as much, if not more so, than regular life.  
His thoughts were running wild now. Where was she? Why should he care? What was she to him anyway? There were too many, and coming too fast, out of control and making his head spin.  
Ans then with a jolt, he realised that his head had quite literally, begun spinning. Rotating involuntarily at high speed on his neck.  
"Freakin' hate it when that happens."  
He grumbled, catching it between his hands.

Just then he heard a soft giggle, and looking up, was surprised to see her suddenly there. Dressed in her white school blouse and long, plaid skirt.  
Wait a minute...wasn't it Saturday today? Who knew? Maybe he'd been asleep a while. 

Hanging onto the bedpost, Lydia lifted her skirt and brought her knee up onto the bed, flashing what appeared to be the top of a lacy stocking.  
If his interest hadn't already been piqued, she'd certainly succeeded in grabbing his full attention now. And he watched with growing excitement as she slowly moved forwards on her hands and knees, crawling excruciatingly slowly, and seductively up the bed towards him.  
"Hey BJ."  
She said softly, her small rosebud mouth taunting him with the pet name she'd given him.  
But as his eyes lingered on those inviting lips, which begged to be kissed, he really couldn't have given a damn what she called him.

"Hey yourself."  
He managed in response, as she drew closer and the familiar scent of her tantalised his senses. She smelt fresh and clean, like flowers and soap. Which was a refreshing change from the usual pungent smell of death. 

"You're not angry at me for calling you BJ?"  
She was asking now, kneeling before him, her doe eyes shimmering with an endearing innocence, as well as something else...a slight glimmer of want, perhaps? Well, a dead guy could hope.

"I'm preparing myself to forgive 'ya."  
He rasped. And then it happened, he lost control.

Grabbing her by the waist fiercely, he surged forwards, but she was pushing him back, her small hands on his chest, forcing him to recline with determination. They were locked in a sudden sensual tug of war, and the heavily charged, sexual energy that hung in the air between them, crackled like static electricity against his skin.  
Smiling coyly, she straddled his hips and her small hands impatiently set to work on his shirt buttons.  
His need for her was bordering on physically painful, and as she moved herself against him, he was pretty sure she'd be able to feel his 'need' increasing, in the corporeal sense.

"Oh, Beetlejuice."  
She purred, catching him completely off guard. And just as he was about to reproach her for the careless use of his name, she suddenly gripped his shirt with a vigour that both surprised and thrilled him, and pulled it apart roughly, sending the remaining buttons scattering across the bed.

"Shit."  
He cursed, his eyes involuntarily flickering shut as he revelled in the heat of her small hands running across his chest. Her fingertips burning a path across his ashen skin.

She felt right. She felt so right after so much wrong. He couldn't even begin to compare her to the others, she was so beyond compare. And he was terrified. He, Beetlegeuse, the ghost with the most, was absolutely fuckin' terrified by how this mere mortal girl made him feel, on all levels.   
He opened his eyes and watched her, the outline of her slender shoulders, her choppy mass of raven hair which was twisted into a high, messy bun, with stray tendrils framing her beautiful, porcelain face. Her eyes now burning with that inner fire that set him alight. She was all kinds of perfect and he couldn't deny it any longer. He wanted to touch her, taste her, and take full possession of her exquisite little body, but not in a demonic way. 

Slipping his hands beneath her baggy, oversized T.shirt, his fingertips met with bare skin, and he pulled her against his mouth, kissing her urgently.  
Wait, wasn't she wearing her uniform a second ago? He was positive she had been, but as he raked his long nails down her back, and she moaned against his lips, he suddenly found himself all out of fucks to give. There was no way he would stop now to analyse it. She had become an erotic force of nature, and he sure as hell had no objections.

"Beetlejuice...please, please.."  
She begged between kisses, and once again he wasn't able to find his voice to object to the misuse of his name. He thought he'd lost his sanity long ago, but now he knew it not to be so. This maddening want was pushing him to the brink of insanity.

Reaching down between their bodies, her palms met with the exposed skin of his bare thighs, making him jerk abruptly. Begrudgingly, he tore himself away from her kiss-swollen lips and looked down, only to find himself now clad in his robe.  
Okay, so something definitely wasn't right. Was he dreaming? Because if he was, he hoped to God or whatever powers that be, that he wouldn't wake up just yet, not when.....  
...Oh. Oh holy shit...  
Suddenly she was there. He could feel her, actually feel her. Naked beneath the shirt, just as he was beneath the robe, and now she was there. Warm, wet and smooth, and wavering against him.

"Well, this escalated quickly."  
He croaked, the last word dissolving into a low groan as she mercilessly teased him by repeatedly raising and lowering herself onto him painstakingly slowly, delaying entrance.

Fighting the desire to ravage her on the spot, he brought his hips up to meet her, impatiently and silently urging her to end his misery. Seemingly overcome with wanton lust, or perhaps as an act of pity, she stilled and allowed him to nudge inside, and he sucked in a deep breath as he slid into her like an eel into oil.  
Her brown eyes rounded and locked on his, and her small mouth fell open but no sound came out. That was until he could stand it no longer, and with one brutal thrust, drove his entire length into her, and she cried out with the shock and ferocity of it.

"Oh...fuck me."  
He muttered hoarsely, momentarily paralysed by the overwhelming sensation of being completely inside her. Sheathed up to the hilt.

"I was...kind of hoping...that's what you'd do to me actually."  
She retorted breathlessly, and rolled her hips against his hungrily now that she'd recovered.

"Sure, I can do that..."  
He grinned at her crookedly. Barely able to focus.  
"You got yourself a deal, and it will be my absolute fuckin' pleasure."

And then they were moving, moving with the uninhibited determination of two lovers conjoined. She felt hot, so hot and tight around him, he was sure he'd now found proof that heaven existed after all.  
Clasping a grimy hand to the back of her neck, he forced her down so that their lips met again, her sweet, life-giving lips.  
Hell, he could get used to this. That was if she didn't kill him all over again. But hey, what a way to go. He wanted more, so much more. He was greedy for her, his appetite could never be sated. Ever. She felt right in every single way. 

Her breath came in ragged pants now as he reached down, smoothing over her waist before slipping his hands under the curve of her perfectly formed ass so he could lift her slightly, increasing his leverage. She yelped as his thrusts quickened, his long fingers holding her firmly in place, guiding and moving her as he plunged into her harder.

"Aah, Beetle..."

"Don't...don't you fuckin' dare! No, no not now!"  
He growled, driving into her with such force he made her teeth clatter, and the bed shifted violently beneath them.

But it was too late, he was obviously just too damn good, and clearly too much for her. He felt the mind-numbing sweetness of her contracting around him, and the rest of his name escaped her lips in a strangled cry.  
"...Juice." 

"Agh, Lydia!"  
He roared, partly in frustration, but mostly desperation. He was desperate. Desperate for his own release, and desperate for the closeness. He desperately didn't want it to come to an end.

But then suddenly his eyes snapped open and he was alone. Alone, and not on the bed, but lay within the cramped confines of the space behind the mirror, and he realised with a heavy heart, that it had been nothing more than a deliciously, explicit dream.

Rolling over onto his front, he soon discovered the effects of the dream that had been all too real. The uncomfortable tightness, as his erection strained against his trousers. Fuck. He thought he'd outgrown this kind of shit about 200 years ago.  
Slamming his head repeatedly against the floor, in the hopes of ridding himself of all unwanted thoughts of the girl that had reduced him to this, a sexually frustrated, horny, confused lunatic, he muttered a never-ending torrent of abuse at himself. He was losing his mind, he was losing his grip. This was bad, real bad, as Michael Jackson would say.  
Of course it had been a dream, she'd sent him back after being dragged off by her folks to some boring event in town. Why was his imagination playing tricks on him in such a cruel way? Hot damn, that dream had been so convincing, he could've sworn he still felt the warmth from her petite body buzzing though him.

Just then he heard the door to Lydia's room open, followed by the creak of floorboards, and for a moment he was hesitant to face his so-called wife. Not through any embarrassment, but through self preservation. Because as much as it aggrieved him to think about it, horny dreams were one thing...but this was another. He was drifting into unchartered territory, recalling the way his traitorous eyes and mind seemed to worship Lydia pain-in-the-ass Deetz, filled him with uncertainty.  
Hell, he'd almost creamed himself over her in a dream for Christ's sake, and if he was honest, which wasn't something he made a habit of, even with himself, there was more than just physical attraction going on here. The smart ass little bitch had somehow wormed her way in. In 'where' precisely he wasn't sure of yet, and he wasn't willing to find out. His emotions? He shuddered at the thought. His heart? Nah. That wasn't possible. It couldn't be. But she was definitely in his thoughts, his subconscious thoughts, and under his skin. 

It was all well and good, playing the part. That's what all good con men did, and he was a pro at it. But falling victim to your own game was a different story. That was unprofessional and out of character for him. He only needed her to serve a purpose, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time in as many days. She was a means to an end, nothing more. Nothing more. Nothing more.  
So why was his withered old, sour heart now misbehaving, filling him with doubt, and dread. 

Still lay face down on the floor, doing an uncanny impersonation of a corpse, his day was about to get decidedly worse. 

"Beetlejuice? Show yourself, we know you're here!"  
An all too familiar voice, distinctly female and shrewish, filtered through the mirror.

He raised his head, squinting due to what felt like a dislodged eyeball, probably a result of his over zealous, literal head-banging, he forced himself up onto his hands and knees.  
Barbara fucking Maitland...surely not? His decomposed eardrums must be deceiving him. Or rather he hoped they were.  
Pausing to push his eye back into place, and check that the tell-tale bulge in his pants was gone, he clambered to his feet and peered out.

Nope, it appeared his ears hadn't been playing tricks on him. There in the middle of the room stood the homely couple, presenting a united-front, clinging to each other as per usual.  
Oh deep joy. What fresh hell was this?  
He surveyed them scornfully, bitter resentfulness bubbling to the surface as he pondered over whether or not he should make himself visible to them. They obviously knew he was there, she'd had the audacity to even speak his name, but he wasn't about to fall over himself to make his presence known. Or even felt for that matter. Because unlike these pathetic amateurs, he possessed the ability to choose who saw him, and who sensed him. And they certainly didn't deserve his attention.

"Barbara, are you sure he's here?"  
The good clean-cut, all American, guy-next-door, was dithering now. 

Yack. He was pretty sure he'd just thrown up in his mouth. These people made him sick. This wholesome, cutesy couple. All brownie-baking and car polishing. But when the chips were down, that's all they were. Scratch beneath the surface and it didn't leave a lot left to be uncovered. They were dullards. Dull as dirty dish water. They were almost as bad as the breathers, afraid of the strange and unusual. They weren't willing to take a walk on the wild side. These goons were all about playing it safe. 

"Yes Adam, Beetlejuice is here. Juno confirmed it..."

Juno? His top lip involuntarily curled in contempt at the mention of her name. So they'd been liaising with that interfering old harpy again. 

"...and besides...I can sense it."  
Barbara insisted.

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Beetlejuice's curiosity was fast getting the better of him. She could sense him could she? Pfft. He called bullshit on that. Her arrogance was staggering, he could easily produce the whiff of damp soil, cigarettes and alcohol in another room if he wanted, and send her on a wild goose chase.  
But he couldn't be arsed with any of that. Instead he leaped upon the opportunity to be menacing, after all he hadn't flexed his malicious muscles in a while now.  
Making himself visible, he leaned against the frame of Lydia's mirror, and folded his arms.  
"Did I hear somebody taking my name in vain?"

The pair jumped, and to his glee, both made startled noises of surprise.  
Some things really didn't change. 

"Well, if it ain't my old pals, the Maitland's. How's the afterlife treating you kids? Hey Babs, did you do somethin' different to your hair?...Oh no, my mistake..."  
He taunted with a twisted smirk,  
"Adam, d'ya still keep your balls in your wife's purse or have you managed to grow a back bone yet? Shit, I'll bet it's only the starch in your shirt that's keeping you upright."

Visibly bristling as the malevolent poltergeist let out a bone-chilling cackle, Adam attempted to stand his ground.  
"Now listen here you misbegotten bastard, you're sailing very close to the wind."

Mimicking hurt, Beetlejuice clutched at his chest dramatically.  
"Ouch! Shit Adam, you really know how to hurt a guy's feelings. Is there any need to stoop to name calling? Now you're gonna be on Santa's naughty list. You'll never get those nice sensible brogues that you wanted."

"I'm warning you, don't push it!"

"Ooh, I'm shaking in my custom-made-from the skins- of-my-former-enemies, boots!"  
He retorted, his eyes widening maniacally.  
"And if you like that, you should see the collection of severed heads I wear as hats on the weekend. Yours would make a suitable addition, it wouldn't even need hollowing out first."

"You're sick, and I shan't even dignify that with a response."

Reaching out, Barbara placed her hand gently against her husband's chest, in order to prevent him from taking another step closer to the vanity table.  
"Adam, ignore him. We're here to discuss Lydia, so don't rise to it."

"Oh, you mean my lovely wife? Well she ain't here, she's sadly had to attend some artsy fartsy show. But I'll be sure to tell her you dropped by."  
He interjected sharply.  
"I'll give her your best...which ain't nuthin' compared to mine, if 'ya know what I mean?"

Shooting him a contemptuous look, Barbara squared her shoulders.  
"I know she isn't here. And let me tell you something-"

"Please don't."  
He interrupted, rolling his eyes as though already bored.

"There's nothing you can tell us about our adoptive daughter."  
She interrupted back.

"Oh, I'm sure there's quite a few juicy things I could tell 'ya, Babs. But I very much doubt you'd wanna know."  
He chuckled, revelling in the way they both squirmed with disgust.  
"And your eager interest in her is sweet and all, but she already has a waste of space mother, so your fuckin' interference isn't needed Mamma Maitland."

Flouncing forwards, Barbara's nostrils flared in indignation.  
"Delia is her step mom, and as she has so many other commitments, I'm the mother figure that Lydia needs. What she doesn't need in her life, is you. So you need to leave her alone!"

Feeling somewhat deflated, and slightly aggravated that Lydia hadn't shared this information with him, his irritation shifted up another notch.  
"Yeah well..."  
Conjuring a lit cigarette, he dragged on it with unnecessary force before purposely exhaling the smoke across the barrier, creating a haze just to annoy the prim pair.  
"...what if I don't wanna? You think you're gonna run me outta town, leaving my broad behind? I don't think so. But I'd like to see ya' try it, just for shits and giggles."

"No. We know how you work, you don't do anything for nothing. So we'll make it worth your while."

Snorting, he turned and coughed a large wad of snot over his right shoulder.  
"What, you gonna make me an offer I can't refuse? What are you the Godfather in drag? The Godmother? Gimme' a break. And do me a favour alright, stop wasting my time."

"Oh I wouldn't be so hasty if I were you....god forbid."  
She hurried over to Adam, gesturing with her hand impatiently.  
Beetlejuice continued smoking his cigarette, his green eyes monitoring their every movement closely.  
Obligingly, Adam was pulling a slightly crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of his khaki trousers now, unfolding it and handing it to his wife. 

"This, is a legal document, issued by the Neitherworld authorities, signed by a Judge, and witnessed by several members of the counsel. It's an official pardon, relinquishing you of all past criminal, and punishable offences. This guarantees you won't be arrested, sued, banished, prosecuted or deported...but most importantly, once you sign your X on the dotted line, it means you'll be free from your curse."  
She declared, barely pausing to draw breath.  
Not that she really needed it. But old habits were hard to break.

"Let me take a look at that, bring it over here!"  
He demanded curtly, pressing his palms to the glass.  
Surely the woman was bluffing? It had to be a fake, and he'd worked in the business long enough to recognise fraudulent documentation when he saw it. 

However, he wasn't seeing it right now. As Barbara held it to the mirror, he immediately recognised the slightly old fashioned piece of parchment, with it's elaborate handwriting scrolling across the page. That which was typical of the arcane style preferred by the courts of the afterlife.  
"Well I'll be damned.."  
He muttered, not bothering to hide his astonishment as he hastily scanned over the legal jargon.  
"How many asses did the old sow have to kiss to pull this off?"

Ignoring him, Barbara snatched the document away abruptly and began waving it around like a victory flag. Silently satisfied that she'd gained his attention.  
"Now listen up pervert, and listen up good. This pardon is subject to agreement. The terms and conditions stipulate you have to give up any claim you have on Lydia, and never contact her again. Once you sign, if you even so much as attempt to break the contract, you'll be condemned to exorcism."

His eyes flickered from the document to her face. Her expression deadly serious.  
She was pretty, with her dark eyes and cute ski-jump nose. Blessed with a rosy, glowing complexion and well-defined bone structure, she was most definitely a catch.  
Her chestnut curls that cascaded over her shoulders, and freakily long, athletic legs, completed the package. And when he'd first met Barbara Maitland, he certainly wouldn't have said no. But not now. Now she didn't seem petite enough. Her hair not dark enough, her skin not pale enough. She wasn't enough. She wasn't 'Lydia' enough.  
His stomach lurched violently, and for a moment he thought he might actually projectile vomit, exorcist movie-style. Nach.

"And, uh...what about Lydia?"  
He heard himself saying.  
"'Cause ya know, you folks seem to be forgetting somethin'. What if she doesn't want me to leave her alone? Did you stop to think about that, whilst you were planning on pulling this shit?"

"We have her best interests at heart. You're a bad influence, she's a confused little girl."

"What a steaming pile of horse shit!"  
He was pacing now, as best he could, given that he had limited space to do so. But his agitation would not let him be still.  
"She's old enough to think for herself. And let's just pretend for one fuckin' second that she might actually enjoy having me in her miserable, so-called life. I mean, why wouldn't she? I'm the goddamn ghost with the most. You freaks just don't appreciate my talents. So, just humour me on this. What happens when I ain't around no more?"

"Oh please, as if!"  
She scoffed, her eyebrows raising in amusement.  
"And anyway, as if you care! What's it to you? You're just using her as part of some twisted game so you can be free from the curse. Well, you don't need to now. This contract will free you. So you can leave Lydia alone."

Her words weighed heavily on him. What was it to him? Why should he care? He was forced to admit the woman had a valid point. He really, really shouldn't give a good god damn. And it troubled him deeply that he did.  
"So uh, does that mean I gotta get a divorce? 'Cause I'm pretty sure my lawyer is still trying to sue me. Plus, I wouldn't want to break the poor girl's heart...and then there's the snake to think of and how it'll affect her. I mean, who gets custody? That's what I wanna know?"

"You're not married here. She might've taken your ring but it counts for nothing if you're not in the Neitherworld. If the curse hasn't lifted yet, then it never will. She'll never want you, you're a foul, depraved moron, but more to the point, you're dead!"

Fighting to keep his face impassive, when really he wanted to tear her head from her shoulders and drop-kick it into orbit, something suddenly struck him.  
Yes he was incensed by her scathing remarks and assumption that Lydia would never want him, but what had she said before that?  
Instinctively, his right hand wandered to the ring which adorned his left forefinger. The gold garnet ring, set with a blood-red stone. His ring. Absentmindedly he fiddled with it, twirling it between his thumb and index finger. He hadn't given Lydia his ring. He'd used that cheap gold band for the marriage. The one he'd won in a game of poker, and hadn't cared less who's hand was missing a finger, let alone a ring.  
"I don't back out of deals. Unlike you two ungrateful, double crossing losers. If I hadn't stepped in and saved your sorry ass, you'd be floatin' around the lost souls room now. FUBAR'd."

"What?"

"FUBAR...fucked up beyond all recognition. It's an acronym."  
He gave her a slow, deliberate look, which she understood and shifted awkwardly.  
"Moron, huh? Pfft."

She opened her mouth to speak, clearly disgruntled, but was suddenly silenced by her husband who had been stood, noticeably silent up until now.  
"Barbara, he does have a point, whether we like it or not. You know maybe we should give him some time, just to think it over."

"No Adam, how could you even suggest that?"  
She argued, batting his hands away as he attempted to take hold of her arms. 

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea Adam. Good man. How's about you er, come back in a couple of weeks and we can talk it over some more. You and me..."  
He gestured between the man and himself. Purposely dismissing Barbara.  
"mono e mono, over a few beers. D'ya like absinthe?"

Turning back to face him, the anguish on her face did not disguise the cockiness in her voice.  
"No. We end this now."

Bitch. She knew this was a once in an afterlife-time opportunity. And he detested and disliked her all the more for it.  
He wanted freedom, he'd wanted it for so long it hurt. And now it was within his grasp. Refusing the offer would be incredibly risky, because Lydia was a gamble, she'd always been a long-shot. Whereas this deal was guaranteed. 

"So, are you going to sign or not?"

 

++++++++++++++++

 

The main suite of the Winter River town hall was crawling with people. The annual 'Art Town' gallery exhibit was in full swing, but despite Lydia's passion for art, right now she really wished she was some place else. 

The parking lot had been almost full when they'd arrived, and after having either fallen asleep en route or been lost in an almost trance-like daydream - the jury was still out, trying to determine which - she woke with a start at hearing her father calling her name.  
She sat in the car for at least a full five minutes, her cheeks tinged pink. Still jangling on the inside from whatever had happened to her. She'd been dreaming of him.  
Quelle surprise. But not of his playfully creepy BJ persona, but of him. The devilishly seedy Beetlejuice, and oh boy....it had been scarily real. Real and oh so very wrong. Wrong yet deliciously right. And now she felt like she needed to scream into a pillow, and then take a very, very cold shower. Or an ice water bath, complete with icebergs and polar bears.

"Lydia, Lydia come on!"  
She heard Delia's voice screech through the window, jolting her from her unsettling lust-filled reverie.

Now, winding their way through the throng of art enthusiasts and curious locals, Lydia couldn't bring herself to look at her stepmother as she waved, bracelets clattering, to random people whom she appeared to recognise. But tucked in the crook of her other arm, resting against her Versace-clad hip, was her pride and joy. Her sculpture. Him. Or at least, his head. In his grotesque snake form, as if taunting her.  
Ugh, the shame of it. She couldn't even begin to make sense of what he did to her, or how he managed to do it, but she was certain of one thing. No one must ever know. Ever. Not even him.

Tugging her black chiffon scarf up self-consciously, despite it being stiflingly warm, she found herself wondering again, when he'd given her the hickey on her neck. She certainly hadn't felt it, which meant the mischievous little shit must've administered it whilst she was sleeping. That's what happened when you fell asleep in the arms of a pervy poltergeist. He'd done it for devilment, knowing full well she'd have to hide it.

"What? It's like a hallmark card. You should wear it with pride, like a badge of honour."  
He'd smirked, his raspy voice teasing her from inside her mirror, as he crunched his way through the unfortunate black beetle which had had the grave misfortune to cross his path.  
"Think of it as being branded by the ghost with the most."

Needless to say, she hadn't been amused. Especially given the fact that she'd agreed to attend the exhibition with her parents. Like everything of late, it had completely slipped her mind until Delia came wafting up the stairs on a cloud of Chanel No.5, rudely interrupting their slightly too-close-for-comfort, playful bantering.  
He was, she couldn't help but notice, becoming increasingly tactile. Touching her hand or her shoulder as they talked. And to her eternal dismay, she liked it. She was really liking his grabby hands. Those grubby, grabby hands with their grimy, ridiculously long, scratchy nails. 

Politely refusing as Delia urged her to 'circulate' she chose instead to hang back, preferring to check out the various paintings and drawings on display. Cringing with embarrassment on her father's behalf, as the effervescent Delia towed him around the room like an obedient puppy, as she mingled with the local creative types, showing off her beloved disembodied stone Beetlejuice head in the same manner one does their newborn baby. 

Lydia really disliked the circles Delia moved in, and always had.  
The people were unbearably pretentious, overbearing and self adoring...much like Delia herself.  
Lydia had grown up in a household filled with strangers. The high-flying businessmen whom her father worked with, and the posse of wannabe artistes', yoga instructors, interior designers, music therapists etc that Delia acquainted with.  
Since the long-suffering Charles Deetz had remarried, their life had been an endless procession of boring dinner parties and other such social gatherings.  
She tried to be as gracious as she possibly could, and whilst she'd freely admit to not always being as kind, patient and tactful with her parents as she should, she did her best to go with the flow, gradually becoming accustomed and immune to the superficial gloss that coated the Deetz's lifestyle.  
Moving to Winter River had proven to be a very good call indeed, in more ways than one. 

Stopping now to study a crayon and biro sketch, entitled "Sunk" she struggled to try and make sense of what her eyes were looking at. Pondering over whether or not the artist may or may not have any limbs and actually held the pen in their mouth to draw, she became aware of someone standing behind her.

"That's totally weird, isn't it?"  
Came a smoky, low voice over her shoulder.

Swallowing hard, she turned only to have her fears confirmed.  
Brett. He was here. Of course he was bound to be, Mrs Anderson was on the arts committee. She wished she'd been better prepared for this, and now she was feeling flummoxed and slightly foolish as he stood before her, in his beaten up leather jacket and ripped jeans.

"What do you want?"  
She asked, her tone coming out more barbed than intended. She really didn't want him to think that his sudden presence irked her so badly.

"Hey, I was just hoping maybe we could talk."  
His crystal blue eyes were searching her face, expectantly. And she briefly recalled how those eyes had been so striking coupled with his glossy black hair.

Now he'd grown it out, his natural colour a rich chocolate brown. That's what his hair reminded her of. Silky chocolate. With his feathery fringe that skimmed his eyelids.  
Standing quite a few inches taller than herself, he was impossibly attractive with his slow smile, straight-lined nose and dimples. Although he was shorter, much shorter actually, than Beetlejuice. And his slender frame nowhere near as broad. In fact, Brett, bordered on skinny. Beetlejuice had lost weight, now only bearing the hint of a gut, but his stature was that of a man. Capable, strong and wiry. Despite Brett's lusciousness and being eighteen now, in comparison he was very much just a boy.

"I don't have anything to say to you, and I've no interest in what you've got to say."  
She responded as casually as she could, whilst wondering why she'd been drawing comparisons between the two.  
Brett was her ex. Beetlejuice was....well, he was Beetlejuice.

"Please Lydia, I really need to set a few things straight. You never gave me a chance to explain."

She'd never really noticed how slow he spoke before. Not in a slow-witted way, but more of a Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining' sort of way. Not that Brett was a psychotic axe murderer, but it wasn't like listening to the gravelly tones of a pidgin-speaking certain someone, who also sounded like they gargled with razor blades and sandpaper each morning.  
And there she went again. If there was a Beetlejuice tangent to be found, she'd be off on it. Ugh.

Trying to remain focused and keep her thoughts momentarily Beetlejuice-free, she attempted to move past her former beau.  
"No. What's there to set straight? You're a jackass, there see? It's that simple."  
Jackass? Oh wow. Where had that come from, she wondered.

"Wait! I can't leave things like this Lydia. It's driving me crazy. I know I messed up, but you have to know that I never meant to hurt you."  
He was pleading, his voice thick with emotion.  
She used to love him for that, his ability to be fashionably sensitive yet too cool to care.

"Don't flatter yourself babe, I really couldn't give a rats ass. You've got your tanned prom queen...who incidentally actually looks like an orange by the way. She's the perfect candidate for a Tango ad campaign."  
She even sounded like him now. And so much for keeping him out of her thoughts. She'd managed all of about 30 seconds.

His face clouding with confusion, Brett reached out and gently caught her by the hand. His touch was warm, too warm. And there was no spark to be felt from the contact.  
"Lydia, what's gotten into you? You've changed. Listen, me and Claire...oh man, it was a total rebound thing. You're right she's a flake, and it never would've happened if you'd have returned my calls and let me explain."

"So it's my fault you're dating her? God, Brett. You really are an asshole. You humiliated me, you abused my trust. I thought you loved me, but all you did was use me."

"I did love you and I still do."  
He said softly, looking genuinely pained.  
"And I was so stupid showing those photographs to the guys. But I was wrong, I got it so wrong. They're not like us Lydia. I was a smug idiot, I felt like the luckiest guy in the world, and I wanted to show off how beautiful you are. For what it's worth, I didn't think they'd blab about it like they'd seen some smutty centrefold. They're too juvenile to appreciate artistic beauty. It was a bad call. I'm sorry." 

Her anger waned slightly, and she heaved a heavy sigh. So perhaps he was just an idiot after all, not a complete and utter jerk. And it was slightly comforting to think his heart was in the right place, even if his head wasn't.  
"Not as sorry as I am Brett. I should never have let you take those photographs in the first place."

He took a half-step closer, and smiled sadly.  
"I know you won't forgive me, but I just had to apologise."

She caught the familiar scent of his leather coat, and for a moment it was easy to forget everything. The whole sorry mess, and the turbulence of the last few months. Strangely though, it didn't seem to matter all that much anymore. So much had changed. And he was right, so had she.  
Bringing his hand up, she allowed him to stroke the side of her cheek tenderly with his thumb, but then he lowered his head to kiss her and something deep inside made her turn her face away.  
"Don't. Don't do that."

"Sorry. That was out of line. I'm sorry."  
He apologised hastily, moving back, his hands mimicking surrender. 

Then she noticed him looking at her oddly, his clear blue eyes blinking, and she realised that her scarf had slipped down, exposing the purple 'hallmark card' she'd received courtesy of her resident ghoul.  
Her hand Instinctively flew to her neck, defensively pulling the scarf back into place.

"I see Claire was right."  
He sighed, and her dark brows drew together in confusion.

"About what exactly?"

"She said something about you meeting with some freaky guy for a hot date."  
He explained, and she felt heat begin to prickle her face.

"She seems to take an unhealthy interest in my personal life."

"So, is it serious?"

"W-what?"  
She stammered, unable to look him in the eye. Why was her heart suddenly bouncing around like a ping pong ball? 

"The guy. Are you serious about each other, or...?"  
A lengthy pause ensued, as he awaited her response patiently.

Her mouth was suddenly extraordinarily dry.  
"Hmm"  
She managed, noncommittally. And she couldn't trust herself to actually speak. 

But thankfully, like a gift from the Gods, a female voice speaking over a PA system, interrupted them.  
"Good afternoon ladies and gentleman!"

The chattering in the hall subsided, as everyone, Brett and Lydia included, turned to look at the woman who was standing on a make-shift podium at the front of the room.  
"What a wonderful turn out! Thank you all for coming to this years Art Town Gallery exhibit. This year, along with celebrating and supporting local artists, we are also featuring an exhibition of selected artwork by students from Briarwood Boys Academy and Miss Shannon's School For Girls.."

Leaning in, Lydia couldn't resist whispering in Brett's ear.  
"I'm assuming Claire's artwork has been chosen for the display, what with your mom being on the arts committee."  
She jibed, unable to bite back a smirk.

Huffing slightly, she delighted in his awkwardness. But his reply came as a shock.  
"Actually, Miss Shannon has submitted your art project for exhibition, Lydia."

"Wait, what?"  
Rounding on him, he was visibly startled by her sudden outburst.

"Yeah, Delia wanted it to be a surprise. She seems pretty stoked about seeing it."  
He shrugged, blissfully unaware of the predicament she now found herself in.

"No!"  
She cried regrettably loudly, attracting several disapproving glances from nearby strangers, followed by a series of hissed 'shush's.'  
"I don't like surprises."  
She added lamely as an afterthought, hoping to cover the way she'd over reacted. 

Brett was staring at her now, flicking the stray strands of fringe from his eyes.  
"But you know now. It'll be fine. Miss Shannon selected your work, you should be excited."

"But I don't want it on public display, Brett. I can't let my dad and Delia see it. Oh god!"

"Gee. Sorry Lydia. But it's too late. The exhibit's opened now. I can understand you being nervous and all, not having your speech prepared-"

"My what?"  
She sank down on a nearby chair, in a daze of terror.

"Well, in addition to the art piece, all the students who've been chosen were asked to write an accompanying speech. You know, explaining the subject matter and their creative process and stuff."

"Subject matter?"  
She parroted, trying to force the rictus of horror off her face.  
"Oh god!"


	11. Lunatics in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia has to face the music when her art project is revealed to her parents, and then to make matters worse she has to give a speech on it, which she isn't prpared for.  
> Where's Beetlejuice when you don't need him? Probably just a slip of the tongue away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Authors Note**  
> Okay, so this is a much shorter chapter compared to the last few I've posted, but I wanted to keep it short(ish) in order to write this scene in two halves because it's so long.  
> Whilst writing this, I incorporated the way in which Lydia's teacher took a shine to Beetlejuice in the cartoon, and also I want to keep things slightly ridiculous. Like in the film. Because that's part of what makes the movie so damn good.  
> As usual, please don't be offended by any of Beetlejuice's dialogue. It's just part of who he is, a rambling, crazy SOB (but we love him)  
> Lastly, HUGE thanks to everyone who has left kudos and commented. You guys RAWK!   
> Hope you enjoy xD
> 
> *****************************

"Beetlejuice!"

The all too familiar name penetrates Lydia's ears, making her cringe, but there's something about hearing it screeched by Delia, that makes it so inexplicably funny. She didn't laugh but a smile was curling around her lips, causing Delia to grow even more aggravated.

"Do you think this is funny? Do you? Because I don't see any reason to laugh!"  
She chided, one gloved hand flying to her hip.

"I'm not laughing."  
Lydia pointed out defensively, failing to hide the detectable smile in her voice.

"She's not laughing."  
Charles added helpfully, forcing a tight smile of his own. 

"What were you thinking? Why? I mean him of all the dead people! If you wanted to draw a dead person why not choose Elvis or someone at least a little easier on the eye! What on earth possessed you Lydia?"

"Not him I hope."  
Charles chuckled clumsily at his own joke, which earned him a scornful look from his wife.

Inwardly flinching, and feeling suddenly ashamed, Lydia attempted to state her case to the agitated woman.  
"It's just a drawing that's all. Like your sculpture, I mean...he obviously inspired you too...artistically."

"Inspired? Is that what you call it? More like made an impression, and not necessarily a good one, I might add. Your father had to increase his medication after that god awful business, and it cost a fortune to fix the ceiling and floor. That was reclaimed oak flooring, Lydia. Do you have any idea how much that costs, do you?"  
Delia's face was beginning to turn crimson now, clashing with the colour of her hair.

Flicking her eyes to the charcoal drawing, then to the floor, Lydia looked solemn.  
It hung on the wall amidst the other pieces of artwork, and seemed to be attracting quite a small crowd. Several people had gathered round to look at the bizarre, and ghoulish figure which stood casually holding a cigarette. His eyes seemed to look straight into your soul, and the charcoal really didn't do them justice, she thought.

"Well, no harm done."  
Charles was saying now, trying to calm Delia down.  
She was attracting quite a bit of attention herself, due to her voice being raised several octaves higher than usual, and it bounced off the walls, with the potential to perforate all eardrums within a fifty metre radius.

"No harm done? Charles, look at all these people? They're going to think there's something seriously wrong with her, a young girl producing something as horrific as that. How do you think that's going to reflect on me? On us? No one will want to rent apartments from the Addams family, thanks to Wednesday here-"

"Horrific? What about that?"  
Pointing an accusing finger at the sculpture Delia clutched under her arm, Lydia stared at her stepmother askance.  
"That's hardly a thing of beauty is it?"

"Now don't upset your mother, pumpkin."  
Charles interrupted hurriedly, seeing the veins in his wife's neck growing increasingly prominent.

"Well Beetlejuice isn't a thing of beauty is he?"  
She hissed, her eyes beginning to protrude from their sockets.  
"My art is dangerous. As is he, it's befitting. But this..."  
She gestured towards the offensive portrait.  
"...this is romanticised nonsense."

"Don't..don't say his name again."  
Lydia warned in hushed tones.  
She wasn't entirely sure how the whole summoning thing worked, and whether or not there were any restrictions or boundaries in place. But being as he could apparently gallivant across the universe, she was quite certain the town hall wouldn't be too much of a problem for him.

"Oh Lydia, don't tell me you still believe he's capable of coming back? Even after him being eaten by the giant Saturn snake from sand land?"

"Actually, I think Lydia might have a point."  
Her father appeared to be ever so slightly on edge now.  
"Better to be safe than sorry."

"What absolute nonsense Charles, don't encourage her. Honestly you're both as bad as each other. If I want to say Beetlejuice then I will. And see, there...I have."

Despite Delia's boldness, there was something in the manner of which she spoke that betrayed her. As if she'd actually said his name by mistake but then hid her faux pas by passing it off as blatant disregard.  
Charles on the other hand was now peering around the room wildly in a state of nervous agitation, and Lydia could've sworn she saw beads of sweat forming on his worried brow.  
And with good reason, she thought. For she herself was now filled with dread.  
Please no, don't let him come. Not here. Not now.

An awkward silence descended on the three, and she wasn't sure she was just imagining it, but her parents seemed to have subconsciously edged closer. And now they all stood in a huddle, jumping when Brett suddenly approached, a collective cry of surprise making him jump as well as a result.

"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."  
He apologised, placing a hand on his chest.

"Scare?"  
Charles forced a laugh through clenched teeth.  
"Son, you have no idea."

Looking slightly puzzled, but still smiling politely, Brett turned to Lydia, who's nerves were jangling so violently she was trembling.  
"It's your turn Lydia. You're up next. But don't worry, you only have to say a few words, so don't sweat it."

Placing a hand gently against her back, he guided her through the crowd.  
Moving towards the podium in a daze, she couldn't decide whether she needed to be sick or cry. Possibly both.  
Where was he? Under normal circumstances he would be here by now. But nothing, there was no sign of him. Not a peep. Which was highly unusual.

Nervously she stepped up to the podium, shielding her mouth from the microphone in order to cough.  
Oh sweet mother of god, what was she going to say? How could she possibly describe her 'subject matter'?  She envisaged the horrified expressions of her parents in her mind's eye, whilst saying something along the lines of "Hi I'm Lydia Deetz, and I'm a Juiceaholic. I like to photograph dead people, and I have an unhealthy obsession with a demonic, sexually promiscuous poltergeist, who I sort of married once."  
Yes, she'd be committed on the spot, and no doubt sent to the nearest psychiatric institution where they'd immediately plug her head into the mains. By the time they'd done with her, the lights would probably be dimming in Vegas. 

Realising she was stood like an idiot in front of the crowd, the low hum of conversation dissolving as they patiently awaited her 'speech', her mind raced and began to fumble for ideas.  
Subject matter...what was it? She couldn't talk about him personally, so what did that leave? Death? Surely that would be too clichéd. Claire was bound to be around somewhere, and even though this shouldn't bother her, she didn't want to give her or her cronies the satisfaction of being predictable. So what did that leave? What did Beetlejuice represent? What did he instil and provoke in others?  
And there she had it.  
Fear.  
She could talk about fear.

Clearing her throat again, she sucked in a deep breath and placed her hands on either side of the podium to steady herself.  
"Hi, I'm Lydia Deetz....you may have seen my drawing, charcoal on canvas...um, untitled."  
She managed with some great effort, as all eyes settled on her.  
"Really, I guess my subject matter is a representation of fear. And um, how people respond to it, and perceive it...someone once said 'I can see beauty where other people see ugliness, which either makes me an artist or just someone with very poor taste.'"

She paused, relieved by the resounding laughter that followed. Making her feel slightly more relaxed. Perhaps quotes were the way to go. Quotes on fear, that reminded her of her 'subject matter'.

"So, I um...I've been thinking a lot lately about taking chances. And how it's really just about overcoming your fears. Even if it defies logic, you should trust your instincts. Because the truth is every time you take a big risk in your life, no matter how it turns out, you're always glad you took it..."  
She was rambling a little now. Speaking from the heart, engaging mouth before brain.  
"..anyway, you shouldn't let fear rule your life. Or fear what is perceived as ugly. We do not fear the unknown, we fear what we think we know about the unknown. And appearances can be deceptive. Courage is knowing what not to fear, because sometimes, what you fear the most is the very thing that will set you free."

Hastily she stepped back from the mic, indicating that she'd finished. No doubt having already said enough. But an enthusiastic round of applause erupted from the crowd, surprising her so much, she had no idea how to respond. Muttering a hurried thank you, she made her way from the podium, the sound of her heartbeat filling her ears, drowning out the sound of clapping hands.  
So perhaps that hadn't gone so bad after all....

Just then a strong arm clamped heavily around her shoulder, and she instantly recognised it.  
Brett wouldn't do that, he wouldn't dare. And besides he wasn't that tall. Her father was more gentle, and more to the point, wouldn't hold her like this. Which meant...  
Oh god in heaven. He was here.  
Filled with apprehension, she turned to look upwards and saw him grinning down at her crookedly, looking exceptionally pleased with himself.  
"Babe, I gotta tell ya...that was somethin' else."

His words though few, caused her heart to leap up into her mouth, and she wasn't even sure why. His almost unwilling recognition, surprising and pleasing her, and for a moment as he gazed down at her with those exquisite eyes of emerald green, nothing else in the world mattered. She quite forgot everything, everyone and even herself. And the sense of freedom was like having fresh life breathed into her.

And then things moved so fast she could barely register it, as he grabbed her, throwing her backwards then catching her in his arms. She yelped softly, surprised by his actions, and then everything slowed down, as he kissed her. A full on, messy, romantic, tongues, and teeth, and lips kiss.  
She'd be lying if she didn't admit it was shocking, and scary...and sexy as hell.  
They were making out for everyone to see, and she wasn't pushing him away. On the contrary, she was melting into him. There had been a time when she wished she had the will power to resist him, but she no longer wanted to. They kissed and kissed, her grabbing onto his shoulders, breathing him in, and she wanted to hold him their forever. His arms were so strong and certain as they held her, and if there were only one moment in her life she could keep and remember forever, it would be that one.

Breaking for air, he made no effort to hide the self satisfied smile that lit up his face, making him look smug yet impossibly adorable. But then she looked passed him, and froze. Her soaring heart, now sinking like a stone as her gaze fell on her parents.  
Oh god!  
She'd somehow managed to forget all about them, and now there they were, rooted to the spot looking utterly aghast.  
What had she just done? How would she ever redeem herself after engaging in such a brazen public display of affection, with him.

Standing a foot away, Charles Deetz looked panic stricken, his jaw practically on the floor, and his eyes so wide she could see the whites. A gasping, sputtering, shocked shell of a man.  
Oh dear lord, she just broke her father.  
Similarly, Delia's eyes were nearly bulging from her head again, like one of those small plastic toys you squeeze in the middle and their eyes pop.

Following her eye line, Beetlejuice turned and upon seeing the traumatised pair, flung his arms open wide.  
"Mom...dad!"  
He cried, before bouncing over to them, like Tigger but with different coloured stripes, and Lydia trailing behind looking more like a mortified version of Eeyore.

Delia clung to her husband, whilst he stood stock still as if trying to camouflage himself, hoping to adapt to his surroundings and blend in with the art-strewn wall.  
Beetlejuice circled them, before throwing his arms around each of their shoulders, pulling them all into a strained, forced hug.

"Ain't this great? The four of us here like this? We really need to get to know each other better. I keep saying to Lyds, we should really make more of an effort, ya know?"  
He eyed Charles closely, causing him to perceptibly squirm with unease.  
"How's about me and you playin' a round of golf sometime hey Chuck? Or fishing, d'ya like fishing? Sure you do. It'll be great."

The hapless man nodded his head feebly, doing his upmost to force a complacent smile. 

"And I promise, cross my heart and swear to die, as soon as I find us a place...you know, a little love nest for me and Lyds.."  
Winking, and moving an arm so he could tactlessly nudge Charles in the ribs, he turned then to face Delia.  
"...we'll invite you over. D'ya like Chinese? I heard you like shrimp, right? I'll cook us all a meal. It'll be real fancy, candles, the works. None of this microwaveable crap."

Grasping him by the arm, Lydia urged him to release her captive parents, who looked every bit like a pair of hostages being harassed by a crazed madman.  
"What are you doing? Will you stop, please?"  
She begged under her breath.

"What?"  
He frowned, sulkily and childlike.  
"They know about us now, they just saw us smoochin' up a goddamn storm. And your pals the Maitland's know, so what have we gotta hide?"

"Barb and Adam know?"  
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.  
"Well, you need to go. You can't be here."

"Er, excuse me, Lydia. But I was invited. So why are ya' tryin to get rid of me, huh?Fuckin' party pooper."

Still holding his arm, she steered him away, trying to ignore the curious stares they were attracting from nearby strangers.  
"Look, this isn't the time or the place for you to be. I've got to talk to my parents and try to claw back some of my dignity. And I can't have you causing any trouble."

"Why not? The cat's out the bag now, so there's nothin' to keep me from having a bit of fun, right?"  
Conjuring a small brown sack, he pulled it open, and to her dismay, a large, distinctly angry looking cat leaped out. Running across the room, spitting and mewling, sending several guests sprawling to the floor as it darted between their feet.

Cringing at the sound of mingled screams, Lydia reproached him.  
"Are you mad? I have to live in this town, and you're going to get me into serious trouble!"

"Shit, don't exaggerate babe. What d'ya think they'll do, lock you up and throw away the key?"  
He scoffed.

"Yes! The key to the padded cell they'll put me in."

"Padded cell? Why? You're not mad....well maybe only in the angry sense of the word. If you want 'mad' mad, then you'd have to be doin' somethin' like this..."  
Focusing on his form, he made himself invisible to the rest of the room, then took hold of her arms and began waving them around animatedly.

"Cut it out, what the hell are you doing?"  
She protested, but the more she tried to resist the more erratic his movements became, forcing her like a human puppet into mimicking the movements of a one-man Mexican wave.

"They can't see me."  
He explained with a twisted grin.  
"So now you do look like a real deranged loony. Yep, they can smell crazy on you now. Ten minutes of this and you'll reek of it."

"Ugh. Stop it!"  
She yelled, inadvertently making matters worse for herself as people turned to see who was shouting.  
"If anyone's a lunatic, it's you!"

Cackling manically, he pulled her towards him with such force her entire body followed.  
"Ya know you love it."  
He crooned, before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"You just love tormenting me."  
She fired back.  
He'd released her from his grasp but she didn't move.

"We're standing real close."  
He pointed out somewhat needlessly, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.  
"People are definitely gonna start talkin', but don't worry, we'll ignore the gossip."

"I thought you said they couldn't see you?"

"That was before, they can now. I figured why deprive the public of my presence. Besides, I can't be arsed wasting my juice on this bunch of asshats. Seriously, I've seen morgues livelier than this."

Hands flying to her face, Lydia hoped that any minute she might wake to find this was just another one of her dreams.  
"You can't be here....people are going to totally freak out when they see my art project is...like a real thing."

"Now that....is a fan-fuckin-tastic idea!"  
His eyes became wide in wonder, and she could see the infinite possibilities dancing in them.  
"Babe, you read my mind. You know me so well, maybe too well."

"No! Don't you dare. Please, you can't. Don't bring my drawing to life like some fucked up version of Dorian Gray-"

"Dorian Gray was fucked up. But fine, fine...I won't animate your drawing...I'll find somethin' else..."  
His words trailed off as his eyes did a quick scan of the room, searching for fresh mayhem to cause.

She saw his eyes narrow, and he turned his head, having just noticed the sculpture that Delia had nestled in the crook of her arm.  
"What...in the name of Greek buggery....is that?"

"That's you."  
She supplied flatly, mildly amused at the look of shocked repulsion on his face.

"Goddamnit, are you fuckin' kiddin' me? I mean...the woman clearly knows a good thing when she sees it, so you can't fault her for wanting to make a sculpture of yours truly...but holy hell, she could've at least put a bit of effort into it. Please tell me I look meaner and more menacing than that? Please. Otherwise I'll lose the will to live my afterlife. I need someone to put me in my coffin, right now. Preferably with some laudanum and Xanax."

Unsure of how to respond, Lydia was thinking on what to say, when suddenly they were approached by none other than Miss Shannon, of all people. And she realised then that her life was quite possibly over.  
It certainly wouldn't be worth living if he insulted, frightened or 'juiced' her teacher. Still, home tutoring was always an option, she thought to herself. More favourable than cutting her hair, and dressing in boys clothes in order to finish her final year of school at Briarwood.

"Lydia! How marvellous, and creative of you to have thought of this."  
She exclaimed, sweeping her hand about Beetlejuice's person, to emphasise the fact that he, was apparently the creative and marvellous thing she'd thought of.  
"To have someone recreate the character in your drawing, and have them attend the exhibit. Utterly ingenious. I simply adore the costume, and oh my, what convincing makeup."

Beetlejuice caught Lydia's pained expression, her Bambi eyes rounding like dinner plates, and filled with silent pleading.  
Shit. There was that look again, the one that mangled his insides into tangled-up knots.

Miss Shannon was looking at him expectantly, and Lydia silently hoped that she wasn't going to ask him his name. If he came out with some ridiculous pseudonym, she didn't think she'd be able to hold it together or suppress the strange, nervous laughter she felt bubbling up inside her chest.  
Fortunately, he seemed to sense her tension and plunged straight in. Managing to somehow swerve the introductions, surprisingly tactfully and thus avoiding a potentially disastrous situation.

"You must be Lydia's...teacher?"  
He ventured, using the same polished, well-spoken accent she'd heard him use once before. Proffering his grubby hand, Miss Shannon took it without hesitation, clearly mistaking the dirt for make-up.

"Why yes, I am."  
The fifty-something woman responded, adjusting the small, round glasses which sat on the end of her broad nose. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you ma'am."  
He continued, in his refined voice, a certain low sultriness replacing the gravelly, deepness. 

Relieved that he didn't bow, or kiss the back of her hand in some over the top, grand show of historical gentlemanliness, Lydia stood, rather lost for words as she watched him smiling, and being charming with her teacher.  
Gone was the coarseness, and the lewd, inappropriate behaviour, and she contemplated pinching herself to see if this really was a dream. Either that or she'd fallen into the twilight zone, or some form of alternative universe. Where was Beetlejuice? Who was this imposter?  
Mindful not to stand with his hands in his pockets, his posture was on point, along with his manners. The man was just full of surprises it seemed.  
She heard him mention something about having attended Juliard, whether or not this may or not be the truth she had no way of telling, but she could barely focus on their chattering. All she could do was smile blankly, and nod, and stare at Beetlejuice, who was now graciously pretending to be engrossed by Miss Shannon's prattling on about the importance of expressionism in all forms of art. 

To say it was strange was an understatement. It was oddly nice, but immeasurably strange. Like having an outer body experience, both surprising and overwhelming.  
On top of that, in between being charming, and her teacher cooing over him, every once in a while he casually touched her lower back. It was like electricity through her body, and when he gave her a big, salacious grin, making a dimple on the side of his face show up, all she could do was blink dumbly at him.  
Oh sweet Jesus. Where had that come from?  
She'd never noticed it before. Obviously she'd never taken the time to look too far beyond the engrained dirt and ashen skin. 

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of her teacher flirting, yes actually flirting, with him...the continuous arm touching, and coquettish giggling whilst fiddling with a loose strand of her greying hair, hadn't gone unnoticed by her, Miss Shannon finally moved on.

"D'ya like that?"  
He winked at her, the moment her teacher was out of earshot.  
"Don't worry, you can thank me later."

Without pause or hesitation, she gratefully threw her arms around his waist, and hugged him tightly. He seemed surprised for a minute, but then he enfolded her in his arms, returning the hug appreciatively.  
"Thank you."  
She mumbled into his shirt. 

"Uh, no problem....say, how's about you and me get the hell outta this dump? And, I dunno...maybe um, go and do somethin', somewhere."  
Why was he suddenly struggling to say what he wanted to say? He never had that problem. Ever. Quite the contrary, normally there were too many words, that came too fast. 

Pulling back slightly in order to meet his eyes, she shot him a disapproving look.  
"Is this a sexual proposition? 'Cause you've just killed the moment if it is."

"What? No."  
His pointed eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. Looking deeply offended.

"Are you like, asking me out on a date type thing?"  
She tried to bite back a smile, revelling in his uncharacteristic awkwardness.  
"Because it kind of sounds like that's what you're trying to do."

"A date? Pfft!"  
He parroted, then most definitely killed the moment by letting out the most massive, hideous snort. Which sounded like the oral version of a really loud fart.

Despite scrunching her face in disgust, she still couldn't keep from laughing at the hilarity of it. She laughed a little harder than she wanted to, finding it funnier than she ought to, but it seemed all the nervous tension was finally catching up with her. And then before she knew it, he was laughing also, and the more she tried to suppress her laughter the more he laughed at her, which set her off all over again.  
He laughed so hard his shoulders shook, whilst tears streamed down her face. They stood, chortling uncontrollably like complete loonies high on laughing gas. And oblivious to her parents, who had been observing in silent horror from what they considered to be a safe distance.

Just then, the unsuspecting Brett walked by, and Charles Deetz summoned him over hurriedly with a frantic wave of his arm.

"Is something wrong Mr Deetz?"  
He asked politely but somewhat distractedly.  
"It's just that a stray cat somehow got into the kitchens, and it's totally freaking all the staff out, it's like feral, man. So I'm trying to help catch it and-"

"Yes, yes, never mind about that right now."  
Charles cut him off, dismissively.  
"I need you to go over there, and just...well just make sure Lydia's alright."

Turning to look at his former girlfriend, who stood in the corner with her odd-looking companion, braying with laughter like a pair of donkeys.  
"She seems fine to me sir. Maybe a little overexcitable, but at least she's um...having a good time."  
That was an understatement. He thought to himself. He couldn't recall ever having seen Lydia laugh so much before, she seemed to have found something unbearably funny.

"That's what I'm afraid of."  
Charles replied darkly, the veins throbbing in his forehead.  
"It seems as though she might be having too much of a good time."


	12. The Three D words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice finally comes face to face with Brett, but will he be able to behave himself for Lydia's sake?  
> And a misunderstanding leads to a very heated exchange between our beloved pair, in a most unlikely place..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
> Well hey guys, I hope you're  all enjoying the holiday season? That being the main reason for my lateness in updating (sorry) but hopefully this long, roller-coaster of a chapter will make up for it. There's lots of feels going on, and temperatures rising all round...Anyhoo, thank you all for commenting and reading, your feedback and encouragement is always greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy ;) 
> 
> ***************************************

"On second thoughts, maybe this wasn't such a good idea."  
Charles Deetz lamented, feeling all at once unquestionably guilty for having sent the unwitting Brett off like a lamb to the slaughter.

"Do you think?  
Delia snapped.  
"If anything happens to that boy, I can kiss my place on the arts committee goodbye, and I'm going to hold you personally responsible!"

Slowly, Brett approached, and upon seeing him, Lydia's laughter rapidly dissolved. Her stomach dropped and her face fell, gaining Beetlejuice's immediate attention. 

"Hey Lydia, everything okay?"  
He asked, shooting a quick glance at the ghoulish stranger before looking at her quizzically.

"Why wouldn't it be?"  
Beetlejuice responded, regarding the boy in the same manner one might when bothered by a troublesome fly. And to emphasise the fact, he waved a grimy hand towards him as if to shoo him away.

Brett made a face, and choosing to ignore his rudeness, persisted.  
"Lydia?"

"Yeah, like he said. We're fine. All good. Everything's good here."  
She rambled, shuffling her feet nervously, silently willing him to go away.

Yet he didn't move. Instead he stood silently, his eyes honed in on her face. Scrutinising it, for what exactly, she could not determine. But she could sense Beetlejuice's agitation rapidly growing.

"See, she's fine. Mighty fine. Are 'ya happy now? Or do you want it in writing?"  
Beetlejuice retorted curtly. This kid was annoying, like a bug that wouldn't go away. And not even a beetle at that, at least they served a purpose. Although he decided in that instant, he'd take great relish in chewing him up and spitting him out.

Raising his hands in mock defence, Brett laughed nervously.  
"Hey dude, I was just asking. No need to freak out or anything."

"Hey dude, I gotta be honest with ya....you're startin' to piss me off. So beat it."  
Holding up a hand in front of Brett's face, he froze the boy in time, rendering him a motionless, immobile statue.  
"And as for freakin' out...fortunately for you you've caught me on a good day."  
With a simple flick of the wrist, a green light shimmered over his figure, before promptly disappearing.

"Brett?"  
Lydia cried, and grabbing Beetlejuice by the arm, she tugged on it in desperation.  
"Where have you sent him? You need to bring him back, bring him back now!"

His ashen brow furrowed at her words, forging into a deep scowl.  
"Brett? That...was Brett?"  
And with a twirl of his hand, Brett miraculously reappeared. Looking somewhat dazed and confused.

"So, you're the little turd blossom I've been hearing about?"

Clamping a shaky hand to her mouth, Lydia could collectedly feel the blood pressure rise in the room. Hers, Brett's and Beetlejuice's, if that was even possible.

"S-sorry?"  
Her ex stammered, his expression filled with indignation, and Lydia shook her head at him slowly, trying to convey a message of warning. She'd never seen Brett in a physical fight, but he was growing a little red around the gills, and she could tell by his tone the direction he was about to march in, with ill-fated confidence. 

"Oh you will be sorry."  
Beetlejuice snapped, staring at him hard with eyes of blazing lava.

This was actually more of a problem than he'd realised. The kid was so unapologetically good looking, it was insulting.  
Since when did teenage boys look like that? He'd been picturing a gormless face hampered with zits. Not this.  
Shit, anything but this.  
The little bastard looked liked something that had just stepped straight off the front cover of a teen heartthrob magazine, with his long eyelashes and cheekbones you could cut glass with. Just looking at him made his eyes hurt, and he desperately wanted to punch him in his perfect white teeth.  
But all that aside, only a fraction of the anger he was feeling could be accredited to him being unfair competition. There was a much bigger problem. Frankly, a huge issue. The matter of how he'd treated his Lydia.  
Yep. There, he'd said it in his own head.  
'His' Lydia.

"Nothin' huh? Not got anythin' to say? No witty comeback? 'Cause yer lookin' kinda angry, but I'm guessing you don't even have the balls to take a swing at me?"  
He goaded, mockingly. Delighting in the boys embarrassment.  
"Ah well, probably for the best. I bet 'cha couldn't even hit water if you fell out of a fuckin' boat."

Brett's mouth literally dropped open, shaken by Beetlejuice's confrontational manner. Staring yet unseeing, and clearly unperturbed by the violence in the ghost's glare, he took a step forward. 

"Boys, boys...you're both pretty."  
Joking clumsily, Lydia halted Brett by placing her hand firmly on his chest, attempting to place herself between the fractious pair.  
This was all getting a bit too 'Westside Story' for her liking, and she half expected them to start snapping their fingers, and pulling out flip knives at any moment.  
"Please don't do this."  
She begged Beetlejuice in hushed tones.  
"Everyone will see."

An excruciatingly tense moment passed as they stared at each other, teeth bared like snarling dogs. And then suddenly Beetlejuice rolled his shoulders and dusted off the sleeves of his jacket, as if shaking off his anger. But now he was eerily calm, his head tilting slightly to to one side, resembling a cobra before it strikes.  
"Okay, Brett...how's about you and me take a little walk?"

Brett didn't have time to react, as Beetlejuice began heading towards the door, he found himself involuntarily gliding after him. Unable to control the movement as an unseen force pulled him along, out into the corridor.  
"What the hell?"

"Well, when I say walk..."  
Beetlejuice pondered aloud, as he strode along purposefully. His movements brusque, and his face now becoming a mask of rage.  
"...I mean in the figurative sense."

All Lydia could do was watch helplessly as she rushed after them, guts churning.  
And suddenly things were moving at hyper-speed, Beetlejuice was gripping Brett by the front of his leather coat, ignoring his cries of protest as he ran with him at full force towards the double doors of the main entrance.  
And then they were flying throug the air, quite literally. The enraged poltergeist's feet having left the ground, hurtling forwards, levitating off the steps towards the sidewalk with the startled boy in his clutches.

"Wait! Stop!"  
Lydia called out, as she gave chase in blind panic, taking the steps two at a time.  
Beetlejuice mustn't hurt him, he mustn't. 

Brett's legs swung wildly, arms and legs flailing at Beetlejuice, but he was much too slow and clumsy in comparison.  
Slamming him into the side of a nearby parked van, it shook with the force of it, momentarily winding him with the impact.  
Lydia flinched, worrying that there'd be an identifiable Brett-shaped dent left there, like in a scene from a cartoon.

"Now that I've got your attention, listen up ass wipe."  
Beetlejuice spat, his voice a low growl, and dripping venom.  
"Those pictures you took of Lydia...the way I figure it is, they're her rightful property. So you're gonna return them to her. Every. Fuckin'. Last. One..."  
Crunching him into the van with each of the last four words he spoke, Brett spluttered, gasping for air.  
"And if I find out you've kept any back, or made copies for you and your dick-less buddies to ogle over, I swear I'll ram my fist so far down your goddamn throat you'll be shittin' teeth for months. Ya' got that?"

"Beetle-"  
Having joined them on the sidewalk, Lydia quickly corrected herself.  
"BJ, stop it. Please just let him go. You're hurting him. Please don't do this, I'm begging you."

Tensing further at her words, she saw his jaw tighten in agitation, his expression set so hard she thought his face might actually crack.  
"You're lucky she's way more forgiving than I am."  
He hissed through clenched teeth, before dropping the boy unceremoniously in a damaged heap on the ground.  
However he didn't have much chance to recover, Beetlejuice hadn't quite finished yet. Reaching down, he hoisted him to stand roughly.  
"So, do we understand each other, cock sucker?"  
Clasping a firm hand to the back of Brett's neck, he forced his head to nod back and forth in agreement like a rag doll.  
"Good. I think we understand each other. Now get outta my fuckin' sight, you make me wanna throw up."

Pushing him away unnecessarily forcefully, he emitted a menacing cackle as Brett stumbled to the ground.  
"Oh, and don't ever bother Lydia again. D'ya hear me? You ain't fit to even breath the same goddamn air as her. You be sure to send those pictures through the mail, otherwise I will find you, she won't be around to save you, and it ain't gonna be pretty. Trust me. Think pain, lots of pain. I'll show you a whole new fuckin' world of pain."

Lydia was at Brett's side now. She threw Beetlejuice a wild eyed, withering stare as she helped her former lover to his feet.  
"I think you've made your point. And you really shouldn't have done that."

Hands balling into fists, he turned his full body to face her. His intense eyes like glowing coals did nothing to hide the blistering fury he was now feeling.  
"Yeah? Well in case you hadn't noticed, I do a lot of things I probably shouldn't fuckin' do."  
Turning on his heel, he raised his right leg, placing his booted foot against the truck, and with one almighty shove, kicked the vehicle over into the road. 

The sound of shattering glass and scraping  metal ensued, filling Lydia's ears. Horrified, her eyes bugged at the sight of the crumpled truck, rocking slightly on it's roof, amidst the glass-strewn road.

"What the actual fuck, Lydia?"  
Brett was saying now, as he stared slack-jawed between the upturned, damaged van, and herself.  
"What was that?"

"You mean who.."  
She corrected, for want of something better to say. And her head began to swirl with thoughts, making her feel almost woozy.  
"Who, not what. He's a person...a person with...feelings. Just like anyone else, I guess."

"He's a freak! Why would you even know a creep like him? I mean, what was that? Some kind of martial arts shit?"

Turning wildly, her eyes searched after him but he was nowhere in sight.  
"Brett, don't call the cops, okay? I promise he won't come after you, just...please don't tell anyone about this."  
She begged, chewing on her lip frantically.

"But look at this!"  
He waved towards the mess in the road that was now attracting the attention of passers by, and another car was approaching. Slowing down due to the obstruction.

"I know, I know. But what will you tell them when they ask for a description? Think about it."

"I'll tell them that a madman who looks like a relation of the Joker's just went crazy. You must know where he lives."

"I don't!"  
She argued, pulling on her hair in frustration.  
"I don't know where he..."  
She faltered as a thought suddenly struck her, and instinctively she began walking away.  
"Do what you want Brett. You usually do. And tell them what you like, but they won't believe you."

"Where are you going?"  
He called after her.

Gathering her long black skirt up in her hands, she broke into a run. She knew it was a long shot but she had to try. She had to trust her instincts. She needed to find him, and couldn't face Brett's questions, or her parents reaction to what had gone on.  
"He may be a creep."  
She muttered to herself under her breath.  
"But he's my creep."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Perched precariously on the narrow ledge of the open bell tower in the steeple of the Winter River Congregational church, Beetlejuice sat filing his nails furiously. 

He hadn't intended to come here. After having stomped away, he found he'd inadvertently wandered in the direction of the graveyard. Like some kind of dead homing pigeon.  
He hadn't lingered to look at the headstones, he had no desire to do that whatsoever, and he'd especially avoided the area at the base of the hill where the twisted old oak tree stood.  
He'd heard of feeling as if someone was walking across your grave, but the term took on a whole new meaning once you were dead. And walking across his own grave was something he actively wished to avoid.

It was dusk now, and the air was crisp and cool. A distinctly biting chill was sweeping in, rustling through the trees and quite aptly setting the tone for his sombre mood.  
This was bogus. He thought to himself, why was he wasting time lurking around the cemetery like a pathetic, level three loser. Pausing to pull up his cuff, he checked his second watch. He was running out of time. Three hours was all that he had, and he'd already wasted one dicking around at the town hall, being unnecessarily nice to sexually repressed school teachers, and threatening teenage boys.  
And for what? For her. But what had he actually achieved? Nothing. Nada. Sweet F.A, apart from causing himself a shit load of grief.

Hissing as the metal file snagged on the edge of his now ragged nail, he found himself wondering yet again how he'd ended up here. In this shitty situation. Trying to be charming, trying to win over the girl he'd married...and for what? Perhaps Barbara-starchy-drawers-Maitland had been right after all. Lydia would never want him. Like, truly want him. And all the flattery and charm in the world wouldn't change that. He'd been an optimistic, overconfident tit, labouring under the misapprehension that if he invested enough time and energy into his 'marriage' then she'd warm to the idea, but after his little outburst of temper and recalling the way she'd looked at him with unmistakable fear in her big brown eyes, he knew then that his efforts had all been in vain. 

And now what?  
Back to the drawing board. And back to to attic, where he would meet with the Maitland's and sign his god-dammed soul away. In the past he wouldn't have thought twice about agreeing to a deal like they had offered. But things had changed, he had changed. And he didn't like it one bit.  
The ghost with the most was at serious risk of losing his edge. Although that ruckus he'd caused back in town would no doubt ruffle a few feathers,  but it was nothing compared to what he could have and would've liked to have done. But he'd exorcised some self restraint for once, as opposed to 'exercising' the demons - his inner ones.  
But had she appreciated it? No. So there was bound to be fallout, and for absolutely nothing. He'd spared that little prick, just for her. Even though he had so desperately wanted to make him suffer his wrath.

Now all he could do was shake it off, grit his teeth, and ride it out. Take the deal, then lay low for a year or two until the shit storm had blown over. He could do that, he told himself. He didn't work well with others anyway. He'd spent eons underground alone, he could do it again. And then come back with a vengeance. A free agent, as it were.  
...But something wasn't quite right. He wasn't feeling it with the same zest he usually did. And whether he liked it or not, he was forced to admit he was seriously lacking the 'zippity' part of his 'doo-dah day'.  
Sucking in his cheeks, he let out a violent, angry roar up towards the dusky sky. The sound of which startled a murder of crows, sending them scattering from the surrounding trees, cawing in fright.

Meanwhile far below, Lydia was winding her way through the graveyard when she heard the spine-tingling sound echo from the tall spire of the church. Hastily she headed towards the traditional cape style, wooden-framed building.

He immediately spotted her approaching, and rolled his keen eyes. Christ he was supposed to be the ghost but she seemed to be the one predominantly haunting him. In his dreams, in his thoughts, in every waking moment. And the bittersweet irony of a mortal haunting a bio-exorcist wasn't lost on him.  
"You lookin' for me Juliet?"  
He called out, the sarcasm in his voice cutting her like a knife through butter.

She gazed up at him, sat casually with one leg dangling down over the side, with his other drawn up at the knee.  
Well, at least a fall wouldn't be life threatening to him.  
"I'm pretty sure Romeo wouldn't have haunted graveyards after he died."  
She yelled back.  
Bypassing the main entrance which was locked, she walked around the side of the building until she found the back door which was open, and she duly noted the broken lock on the door.  
Struggling up the dark, narrow stairwell in her long skirt, when at last she reached the top she was slightly breathless and even more disgruntled.  
"And I'm certain he wouldn't have been guilty of breaking and entering a sacred building either."  
She huffed, and he detected the irritation in her tone as she pushed the wooden door of the tower open.

"Sacred. Pfft."  
He proceeded to hack up a wad of snot, crudely spitting it over the side.

"Ugh. You're so gross."  
Scrunching her face in disgust, she stepped precariously onto the platform where the bell hung.

"Yeah, so what else is new?"  
He remarked tersely, not bothering to look up from his hands.

Perplexed, she edged over to him. His expression was unreadable, but he was undoubtedly pissed off. She could practically feel the anger radiating from him.  
"I suppose I should say thank you."

Ceasing his movements, he turned to look at her slowly. Her comment having the desired effect.  
"For what?"  
He growled, his frown now deepening into a forged scowl.

"For not killing Brett, or juicing him."  
She responded dryly, and saw the sudden flash of anger in his green eyes. The look was cold, and hard yet somehow still managed to raise her temperature. It was deeply unsettling, yet strangely arousing, and she felt her face flush hot, stinging slightly as the cold breeze whipped through the tower.

"Gimme' a break. I just did the Neitherworld a favour by letting that dirtbag go. The guy's a complete dick head. Must be a real ball-ache for him, having to do a hand stand every time he needs to take a piss."

"Are you...are you jealous?"  
She managed, chancing a small smile.

"Are you kiddin' me? Of that numb nuts?"  
He scoffed, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck with a jagged fingernail.  
"No! I'm just racked off that I didn't get to bounce him all over town like a spring-loaded turd in a pinball machine. Which is less than what he deserved. But no..."  
Clasping his hand to the side of his face melodramatically, he fluttered his eyes, as he mimicked her voice perfectly.  
"No. Please. Don't hurt him...not my beloved Brett, can't ruin his pretty little face."

"What? What are you talking about? Do you honestly think I'd still care for him that way?"

"Ya know what, Lydia? I gotta say I don't really give a flying Peter Pan fuck anymore."  
He lied, and nonchalantly resumed attending to his nails.

Filled with a sudden burst of anger, she shot forward and snatched the file from his hands abruptly.  
"Why are you being such a jerk?"

"Ow!"  
He flinched, making her jump as he wafted his hand around as if he'd just been burned.

"What's wrong?"  
Impulsively grabbing him by the hand, she peered down at it for signs of injury.  
"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I snagged a nail on the arsehead's coat."  
He looked at her face and registered her deadpan expression.  
"What?"

"A nail? Seriously?"  
Failing to stifle a giggle, she held his large hand in her slender fingers.  
"You can fly, you can alter reality, conjure things from nothing, change your clothes as well as other people's...yet you can't fix a broken nail?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, smart ass."  
He mumbled, eyeing her steadily as she sniggered openly at him.

"Wow. The ghost with the most, breaks a nail and loses his mind. Is that why you're so cranky?"

"Yeah, like I need another fuckin' reason to be cranky."  
He snorted.  
"Why are you even here anyway? Frightened I'm gonna reanimate all the corpses from the cemetery and start a zombie apocalypse? 'Cause don't worry, it's too fuckin' exhausting. So you can just go reunite with lover boy, and-"

"Lover boy? Eew. Weren't you bothering to listen at all? I don't care about him anymore. Well I mean, I don't want him dead or anything like that, that's a bit extreme. But I was worried about you, not him."

"What? Me?"

"Well yeah I mean, you could get in trouble, right? I read the rules in the handbook. Ghosts are forbidden to seriously harm the living, any that do, run the risk of banishment."  
She recounted, ignoring his baffled expression as her grip absentmindedly tightened protectively around his hand.  
"You shouldn't have put yourself at risk, and you shouldn't have smashed up some poor guy's truck...but thank you. You were, um very manly...lots of manliness going on back there."  
She babbled, trying to find the right words.  
"No ones ever stood up for me like that before."

Brushing her thumb along his palm absentmindedly, she felt the roughness of his cool skin. His hands were so capable, so certain, and she'd grown to like the feel of them. Unwanted, inappropriate images began flashing through her mind's eye as she recalled the disturbingly explicit dream - or day dream - she'd had earlier in the day. Coupled with the memory of what these hands had done to her, and what they were capable of.  
What was this magnetic influence he wielded over her?  
He was like a fever she was learning to live with. Whatever he was doing to her, it rendered her a quivering mess and caused her to heat up, even against her wishes.

"Uh, Lydia."  
He spoke at last, in his lulling, deep, spellbinding influence of a voice.

"Yes?"  
Her doe eyes scaled back up to his face, and that lethal smile.

He leaned forwards, expression serious, as though about to whisper all the secrets of the universe into her ear. The features of his face seemed to be carved from stone. And at this moment in time she swore she knew every line, and each texture. She was actually beginning to believe she somehow knew the man...the inner man who remained an enigma.  
A lengthy, loaded silence followed, and she had to remind herself to breath.  
"I'm uh...gonna need that hand back, babe."

"Oh. Yeah. Right."  
She stuttered awkwardly, cheeks flaming as she freed him from her grasp.  
But then suddenly he caught hold of her hand, making her jump in surprise. She was so on edge because of this fiendish poltergeist, and she was sure he knew it.

"Is that what I think it is?"  
He asked, arching an eyebrow at her questionably. 

Blinking, she followed his gaze and realised to her dismay that he'd recognised the thin wedding band on her right hand.

"You've got it on the wrong hand, babe."  
He added needlessly, his mind was racing now. Why was she even wearing that?  
Shit, this girl was so difficult to understand. He really had no idea what it all meant, or where he stood with her.  
So, sometimes the straightforward approach was the only way to go.  
"How long have you been wearing that piece of tin? But whatever, I'm gonna be needing that back I think."  
He declared, and wasted no time in slipping the ring from her finger before she had time to collect her thoughts or object.

Oh god. What was happening? She watched him launch the ring over the side, flinging it out into the darkness that had descended around them.  
Why had he done that? She wanted to ask him, but her stubborn pride wouldn't allow it. She felt inwardly crushed, as though she'd just had a weight dropped on her chest, but she couldn't bring herself to show it.  
Feeling inexplicably rejected, she turned to make a bolt for the door, like a maniac. Unwilling to let him see how his unexpected actions had affected her.  
But he was always one step ahead, literally. And within the blink of an eye he'd moved and was now blocking her exit.  
"Hold up, where 'ya goin? We ain't finished here-"

She didn't have chance to reply, as he appeared in front of the door just as she made a grab for the knob, and instead grasped the wrong kind, ending up with a handful of his crotch.

"Oh god!"  
She squealed, jerking her hand away, utterly mortified.  
"Did I just? Oh..no...I didn't, did I?"

"Grab my dick, yeah 'ya did."  
He confirmed with a devilish smirk, increasing and cocky.  
"But hey, don't be sorry. I sure as hell ain't."

Reeling from embarrassment, she couldn't look him in the face. Attempting to walk around him instead, but he stepped in front of her.  
"Wait, wait a minute. You can't just grab and go."  
He chuckled, slinking closer, and she felt her pulse begin to race.

"Stop it. It was an accident. I didn't mean to-"

"What, touch me?"  
Running a hand down the front of his trousers with a flair of sensuality, he heard her breathing quicken and knew she was deeply affected by the erotic gesture.  
"You know you can if ya want to. It is all yours after all, and I promise I won't bite."  
Snapping his teeth at her nose, his words heated and burned her insides. His full and demonic lips were unbearably enticing, and her eyes involuntarily cast down.

Standing there up against her, she felt the familiar hardening of his growing erection, he claimed was just for her.  
Fighting the disturbing, primal temptation to reach down and touch him, all she could do was wheeze. She'd never felt such maddening want in her life. It was like experiencing a sexual awakening, as she forced her eyes back up to his nearly perfect pout, puffing out his lower lip to entice her into a dark, strange world of forbidden longing and shaking limbs.

Without a word and his eyes never leaving her face, he took hold of her trembling hand and pressed it to his firmness, guiding her palm along his length, not letting her go until she stopped trying to snatch it away.  
Her eyes widened as her curious fingers felt him, thick and heavy in her small hand. She gently rubbed up and down slowly, and he emitted a low, appreciative growl, spurring her into increasing momentum.  
Knowing she had this effect on him was a heady feeling indeed, and when his head lowered, she allowed him to ensnare her lips with his in a deep, sensual kiss.  
She could feel herself internally falling, tumbling ever further down this rabbit hole of madness.  
Moving in a blur, a frenzy of kisses and limbs, they staggered backwards, him pressing her into the wall behind them. Gripping the underside of her thigh in his large hand, he skilfully manoeuvred her skirt so he could bring her leg up, hooking it over his hip as they rocked together lustfully, grinding themselves against each other. 

If this was what it was to truly lust after someone, she no longer cared that he was the object of her desires. The longing she had felt building for the longest time, was now an ache. She ached for his touch, she ached for him. She wanted to break free from her cocoon of ignorance, the time for the three D words; denial, deflection and deliberation, had passed.  
The desire she had read of in books, that of which she'd always found intriguing yet difficult to identify with, now made perfect sense. Just in a seriously messed up way.  
And whilst he was far from being a dashing vampiric type, that had no impact on how she was feeling. She adored his crooked smile, his earthy scent, and emerald eyes. She wanted to be closer, so much closer. To feel alive, to feel his undead flesh on hers, and to have him inside her. Oh dear fucking God! Had she really just thought that? Blood rushed to her face as well as a certain other part of her body, just at the mere thought of it. 

His hands were gliding up her sides now, tugging the neckline of her shirt down roughly, so that the lace of her bra peeped out beneath the dark material. Breaking away from her mouth, his firm lips traced a path downwards, along her neck and collarbone before coming to rest at the swell of her pert breast.  
She was panting now, her chest rising and falling, the motion hypnotic to him, and teasing. He wanted to touch her, taste her, and bring her to her knees....if not literally then figuratively.  
Driven by his own primal urges, he went straight for her buttons, and instead of unbuttoning them, tore her shirt open.  
He heard the scatter of buttons hitting the wood floor, but it was her small shriek of surprise that sparked his libido all that much more. Causing a flush of excitement to lurch deep within the cavity of his chest as well as his trousers.

She gasped, her head lolling back against the rough wood of the wall, as he slipped his fingers beneath her bra, pushing it aside, and suddenly she was bare and in his hands. The icy chill of the night air on her exposed, flushed skin was cooling, as he set her on fire with his touch, running his thumbs over her nipples.  
And when she felt his skilled mouth envelop her left breast, she moaned unashamedly as his lips licked and suckled with an erotic enthusiasm that threatened to test her own self restraint.  
She grasped onto his shoulders tightly, tugging in desperation. As if silently begging for him to give her life or take it.  
She wanted more, more of him. More of this and them. Whatever it was. It didn't seem there were words enough to define it. She was frightened, and thrilled and elated by what they had become. There was no way of naming it. And for now, they were just Beetlejuice and Lydia...that was for now, if they were still two and had not merged into one, somewhere along the line.

Having to suppress a groan, Beetlejuice was inwardly wrestling with his demons. Pesky little bunch of bastards that they were.  
She thankfully seemed oblivious to the inner turmoil he was faced with, as his shaft throbbed eagerly inside his striped pants, like a heat-seeking missile, honed in on her warm core. Even through the irksome, inconvenient barrier of their clothing he could feel her heat, inviting and beckoning him inside. Yes he knew in that instant she would welcome him in gladly, he sensed her arousal and willingness just as she sensed his need and urgency.  
And damn it, the temptation was bound to bring about his demise.  
He wanted her so badly it physically pained him, and as she pressed herself to him, silently giving her permission to take whatever he wanted, it hurt even more feeling so compelled to not accept the invitation. 

He had to decline. As much as he wanted to take her right there and then, and fuck her senseless until she started speaking in tongues....something was preventing him.  
Something was stopping him. Much to his annoyance. The time didn't feel right. He felt she deserved better. A better scenario, better surroundings...a better suitor...  
...Wait. No. Surely he hadn't just thought that? And what if, after allowing him to have his wicked way with her due to her lust-filled stupor, she regretted it afterwards? Agh!

Irritated now, knowing his reluctance stemmed from the onset of low self esteem, and self doubt, he reacted instinctively by dropping dramatically to his knees in front of her.  
So, he was suffering with an uncharacteristic attack of nerves, nothing more...he shrugged the uneasiness off.  
It'd pass, he assured himself, and he'd worry about it another day. Right now, he wanted to reduce Lydia Deetz to a trembling, jibbering wreck. He wanted to claim her in a way that no one ever had before, and he figured he was on the right track, judging by her confused and concerned expression.  
Oh boy, did she have a big surprise in store for her, and hopefully she'd enjoy it just as much as he undoubtedly would.  
Plus it'd get her warmed up nicely for a later date, leaving her wanting more. Yeah, full sex would be saved for opening night...this was just another dress rehearsal, but one that still wouldn't ever be forgotten either.

Lifting her skirt with one hand, he settled himself between her thighs with determination, and pushed her panties to one side as if annoyed by the whole convention of wearing clothes.

"W-wait..what...what are you doing?"  
She stammered breathlessly, immediately tensing at his actions. She wasn't a complete idiot, and had a very clear idea of what his intentions were.  
"We can't. I've never, I mean....oh...god!"  
The last two words came out in a strangled cry, as she felt him pressing his whole mouth against her.

Bingo, he thought, as he began the tantalising assault with his formidable tongue, and...sweet Jesus, she was delicious in every sense of the word. He could feel her breaths growing increasingly shallow as she attempted to twist and writhe against him, her grip on his shoulders tightening considerably whilst he lapped at her greedily.

"Oh god..oh..Beetle-um..oh god, please...please."  
Sounding as if she was muttering a prayer, her vocabulary appeared to have reverted to that of a toddler, and she had to bite her lip hard to keep from crying his name as he made slow, aching circles with his remorseless tongue.

Oh this was bad. He was so very bad, and she was bad. Having strayed down this dark path of depraved carnal pleasure, allowing him to do these things to her, and in a church of all places. She was most definitely going to hell, she decided. But couldn't have cared less, as right now she'd never felt so heaven bound.  
The muscles in her thighs tensed, and her legs trembled, threatening to buckle at any moment. But he held her firmly in his strong hands, pulling her to him like she was an offering. He was strong, so strong but completely controlled. She knew what he could do to her if he so chose, even without his powers. He could destroy her. And knowing she was at his mercy added to the intensity, heightening the pleasure.

His cold lips, his tongue, were perfect. His expert teasing licks caused a sweet maddening tension to spread throughout her petite body. And now her hips involuntarily bucked slightly against his mouth, causing a low groan to escape from him, reverberating along her tingling skin.  
She was shaking, panting and making noises she didn't even realise she could make. The relentless, fluttering dips making her unravel like a ball of yarn that was being played with. Played with by a lion.  
The tightening increased, the sensitivity intensifying, and she momentarily clasped her legs to his head. Still, at least she wasn't going to suffocate him...  
But as her back bowed, he forced her thighs apart wider, affording him better access as he nuzzled into her.

Muttering pleas of desperation under her breath, she felt certain she would snap under the pressure of the tightening, as he held her firmly in place so that she couldn't escape the pleasure. So that she couldn't escape him. And with the softest nudge of the tip of his skilful tongue, he masterfully pushed her into sweet oblivion.  
"Beetlejuice!"  
His name tore from her chest before she could stop herself, and stars studded her vision despite her eyes being screwed tightly shut. Shuddering, she collapsed against him as her orgasm devastated her.

She could feel him shaking as well. She could feel him panting against her, and she could sense the pleasure he got from making her that way.  
Pulling back slightly to look up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, his hands remained in place in order to support her weight and keep her upright.  
"I'll let you off just this once. On this occasion I don't object to the name calling."  
He breathed, a self-satisfied smirk playing upon his glistening lips.

Hot damn, he thought. Struggling to think clearly through the lust-filled haze that was fogging up his mind. He had never, in all his existence been so turned on before. And whilst his arousal still gnawed away at him, he felt no frustration, or resentment. Just pure, unadulterated bliss, for having been the first to do this to her. To his wife.

"God.."  
She managed at long last, her body still wavering as he carefully rose to his feet.  
"..what the fuck was that?"

Unable to bite back a low chuckle, he eyed her steadily and licked his lips. Making her cheeks flame.  
"That, my love...is what makes the difference between a lousy boyfriend, and a fan-fuckin'-tastic husband."

Rearranging her clothes as best she could, she let out a small burst of laughter which dissipated as she registered his words.  
Okay, so firstly he'd just called her his love. Her heart skipped a beat, but she dismissed it hastily, not daring to place to much emphasis on his wordplay. Secondly though, and more importantly, he'd just referred to himself as her husband, despite having taken the ring from her and thrown it away.

Stretching to his full height, he loomed above her now. Gently resting his forehead against hers.  
"Why did you take the ring?"  
She asked, affixing her eyes on his black tie. 

"Why were you wearing it?"  
He shot back immediately, and his response made her heart feel heavy once more.

Knowing she'd most likely never get a straight answer from him was infuriating and disappointing, but something about the moment, the intimacy they'd just shared, and him in general, made her respond simply and truthfully.  
"I wanted to feel close to you."

Drawing back, he surveyed her closely for a moment, and then in the next instant he was hurriedly tugging and pulling at the ring on his left hand. His precious, beloved garnet ring that he'd never be without. Twisting, and turning it between his fingers, working it loose until at last he prised it off and held it triumphantly between his thumb and forefinger.  
"It was fuckin' useless, now this...this is my ring."  
He declared, holding it aloft like a most prized possession. And then without thinking he did the unthinkable, the unimaginable. He dropped down on one knee, his bones cracking due to the boisterous movement. 

Her eyes rounded in their sockets, and the breath caught in her throat. He wasn't doing what she thought he was doing, was he?  
He couldn't be. It wasn't possible.  
Then in typical Beetlejuice style, he opened his mouth and ruined the moment..

"I guess I never did ask you properly did I? But hell, what can I say? If you'll have me I promise to make your pussy wet not your eyes. I'll break your bed not your heart, and I'll play with your tits not your feelings. Just as long as you get on my dick and not my nerves."

Shaking her head in shocked disbelief, she reached out and urged him to stand.  
"Wow. You really are something. That's your idea of a romantic proposal? Because it needs work. How could a girl resist?"  
She deadpanned, folding her arms firmly across her chest.

Shrugging, he persisted by offering the ring to her anyway. In spite of his botched attempt at being romantic. And something in his body language made her bemused smile fade.  
"Ever heard of quantum entanglement?"

Nodding slowly, her eyes flicked between the beautiful red stoned ring he held between his dirty, pointed nails, and his serious face.  
"Yeah, like the theory of entanglement? When you separate an entwined particle and you move both parts away from the other, even at opposite ends of the universe, if you alter or affect one, the other will also be altered or affected."

"It ain't just a theory, it's a proven thing. And it happens when two particles are so deeply linked, they basically share the same existence."  
He explained, his lulling voice low and serious. And in order to emphasis his point, he took her hand in his, and entwined his long fingers through her own.  
"Otherwise known as...spooky action at a distance."

Blinking rapidly, she felt her chest tighten as the gravity of his words sunk in. Was he actually saying that he believed they were made for each other? That they were destined to be together. And that whatever their souls were made of, his and hers were the same?  
Raising her eyes to meet his, she suddenly felt overwhelmed by the sincerity of his gesture, and the tender vulnerability right there before her. A haunting shade of innocence she'd never dared dream of witnessing in him.

Not trusting herself to speak, instead of taking the ring, she found herself proffering her trembling left hand out to him.  
Holding it steady within his own, he carefully slipped his ring onto the correct finger, and with a nod of his head he juiced it in order to fit snugly in place.  
"You know what, babe?"  
He fired the most endearing smile, straight into her eyes. Dazzling her and making her heart swell.  
"I reckon you and me could really make a go of this living in unholy matrimony thing."


	13. A Bridge Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice struggles to accept the sudden shift in their relationship, and Lydia has concerns of her own when she faces her parents and the Maitland's.
> 
> But when an unexpected visitor sends him back where he belongs, what lengths is Beetlejuice willing to go to, in order to keep Lydia by his side?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
> Hey guys! Hope you're all good. Thank you all for reading/commenting and leaving kudos. It's greatly appreciated. Please accept my apologies for the lateness in posting, and I'm hoping this eclectic, long chapter will help make up for the delay. I hope you enjoy this instalment, and it'd be really cool if you let me know what you think.  
> Thanks Juiceaholics, you're all awesome! xD
> 
> ***********************************

The walk from the cemetery was fast, as Beetlejuice was in a hurry to get back to the house.  
They didn't really talk much, and Lydia could sense there was something troubling him but knew it wasn't the right time to ask, as they hurried across the field, and through the darkened streets of town before joining the long, winding road up the hill towards home.  
The sky had turned a beautiful shade of midnight blue, the pale winter-white moon shone down over them amidst a glittering canopy of twinkling stars. But Beetlejuice certainly didn't seem to notice, as he kept on taking long, purposeful strides. His hands tucked in his pockets, and his head down, focused solely on walking.  
The mood had changed between them since leaving the church, and for once he was much quieter and reserved than usual.  
Silently, she wondered whether or not she'd done something drastically wrong, and knowing she could pinpoint the precise moment when he'd become withdrawn, did little to alleviate the worry she was beginning to feel.  
She'd gone and done it. She'd dared broach that most monumentally awkward subject, and asked the unavoidable question... 

"So, what does this mean now...like, for us?"

Every muscle in his ghoulish body appeared to tense up at those words, and in spite of it not being possible, she could've sworn he turned an even whiter shade of pale.  
Needless to say he hadn't supplied her with an answer. Choosing instead to hastily check his watch and suggest they ought to be getting back.  
She'd complied,  taking his subtle-as-a-sledgehammer reaction to mean that he would rather die all over again than address that particular quandry right now.

Her unease did not waver when she perceptibly shivered against the icy wind, and his conflicting behaviour confused her even more.  
His head snapped up, and in one swift motion he'd shrugged out of his jacket and was holding it out to her.  
Understandably, she knew that he wasn't susceptible to the cold, but she couldn't think for the life of her why he couldn't just conjure her a coat, rather than surrendering his own. Perhaps It was some chivalrous gesture he felt compelled to do. An attempt at unselfish romance, or maybe an ill conceived macho notion - as if him offering her anything less than the coat off his own back would be an affront to his masculine pride. 

"Um, you don't have to do that."  
She informed him, despite being deeply touched by the sweetness of the gesture.

"I know I don't have to, but I wanna. Don't worry, you ain't gonna catch bubonic plague from it."  
He replied, his tone notably clipped, and the remark ridiculous considering they'd kissed numerous times. If there were any cooties to be caught, she'd have well and truly caught them by now.

"I know that, I just-"

"Oh just take it already would ya. I'm only offering my jacket, not askin' you to have my demonic babies."  
He draped the jacket loosely around her shoulders, and did his best to ignore the way her dark brows drew together in confused irritation.  
He was being unnecessarily sharp, and he knew it. Immediately guilt stricken, he added this foreign sensation to the ever-increasing mental list of unsettling feelings he was experiencing.

For the first time ever, he felt awkward and clumsy. One thing he'd always been was self assured and immune to such petty emotions. Now he suddenly found himself no longer knowing what to say, or how to act. And that was new. It wasn't him. It wasn't Beetlegeuse.  
Playing the role of court jester or malevolent spook was like living in a second skin for him. It was who he was, and it was what he did.  
He repulsed people, he frightened people. And he'd done it for so long now he wasn't sure if he was capable of being or doing anything else.  
Yet the persistent ache deep within the cavity of his chest, told quite a different story. And he wasn't accustomed to it. He was used to seeing people draw back in fear from him. Not willingly leaning in with endearing inquisitiveness, and that quality of naivety he so loved about her.  
Fuck.  
It wasn't possible. He'd got caught up in the moment, surely?  
Hell, he'd all but burst into an impromptu rendition of "I want to know what love is" back in that tower when she'd willingly accepted his ring.  
But what did that really mean? There was no way she could feel so deeply for him, or he for her. Was there?  
His insides, along with his mind, were a scrambled mess, and when she'd asked him what it all meant, he'd panicked. His traitorous tongue, too tongue-tied to tell her.

Sliding a sideways glance in her direction, his ancient eyes drank in her perfect face, bathed in the silvery, luna glow of the moon. The sight of her shoulder-length inky tresses, tousled by the cold night air, added to her serene beauty. She was mesmerising, and had he had any, she would've taken his breath clear away.  
But his keen eyes didn't fail to notice her sullen countenance. Her small, elfin-like features were crumpled in a look of contemplative sadness, making him regret the way he'd vented his frustration on her due to the uncertainty of it all.

With lightning speed, his hand darted out, catching her small palm in his large one.  
Immediately brightening, she shot him a surprised smile, which he matched with a foxy smirk of his own in response.  
Not a word was said, and it became apparent they'd now reached the point where conversing was no longer a necessity.  
Such was the perplexing mystification that had become 'Beetlejuice and Lydia.'  
Like two sides of the same coin, they complimented each other well. He was a wild anomaly, and she possessed the breadth and strength to handle his glorious complexity. And it was becoming increasingly obvious, at least to each other if not anyone else, that they seemed to fit together perfectly, like two spoons in a drawer.

Now all she had to do was face her parents and guardians, and convince them. Somehow.  
And he, he had to go tell the Maitland's to stick their proposal where the sun didn't shine...

 

As they neared the hilltop home of the Deetz/Maitland family, Lydia's attention was caught by the distinctive cherry red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette, parked outside.  
"Oh hell."  
She muttered, her dark eyes rolling in instant irritation.  
"Otho's here. Oh god, no. Why now?"  
Faltering slightly on the road, she hesitated. Causing Beetlejuice to halt in order for him to keep a hold of her hand.

"What? You ain't bothered 'bout old round boy are ya?"  
He gleamed his wicked smile at her. Mischief dancing in his green eyes.  
"I can always take care of that cum dumpster."

"No. It's fine."  
She managed, straining to hold back a giggle.  
"I'm just not so well equipped to deal with him right now."  
Turning to look at him, she shot him an apologetic smile.  
"Can you...you know, make yourself invisible or whatever it is you do? I can't handle being judged by him as well as everyone else, and I'm pretty sure he won't be able to handle the sight of you again."

Raking his free hand through his unruly mane of wiry hair, Beetlejuice heaved an over exasperated sigh.  
"Okay fine. I'll make myself scarce. But....just don't expect me to keep such a low profile if the little cock jockey starts bad mouthing me or any shit like that."

Nodding, Lydia reluctantly released his hand, immediately mourning the loss of contact, and continued on her way up to the house. Beetlejuice silently loping along beside her, now invisible to all but herself.

She reached the front porch, and was startled to find the door slightly ajar. Peering around it apprehensively, she almost jumped nine feet in the air when Otho's robust frame suddenly stepped into view.  
"God, Otho!"  
She squeaked, not even attempting to hide her annoyance.  
"What are you doing lurking behind the door?"

"Why, don't tell me I actually succeeded in scaring you Lydia? If that's the case then your ghostly companions must really be losing their edge."  
The man drawled lazily, in his buttery dulcet tones.

"That's unfair. You know mister and missus Maitland tried their best to be scary. But their hearts weren't in it."  
Pushing her way inside, she contemplated asking him how he gained entry into the house. Knowing Otho, probably through a ground floor window.  
"Where's my dad and Delia?"

"God knows. But they're late. Perhaps they've been caught up in that dreary road traffic incident in town. The road is barricaded off, I had to take the diverted route."  
He explained, taking a sip of the large dry martini he'd clearly helped himself to.  
"Still, it's probably the most exciting thing that's happened in this backward town since your friends own little mishap on the bridge."

"Nope. That'll be me."  
Beetlejuice snickered under his breath, as he slunk inside undetected.  
"I was, and always am the most excitin' fuckin thing to happen to this town."  
Hoping to make it up to the attic so he could meet with the Maitland's for the time they'd agreed to, prior to his being summoned by the mega bitch Delia, his invisible form began to float up the staircase. But alas his attempts were thwarted by the clucking pair suddenly descending the stairs at break-ankle speed, unknowingly passing through him as they came.

"Lydia!"  
They cried in unison, and practically flung themselves at the stunned young girl.  
Embracing her tightly, Barbara and Adam held her between them for what felt like a painfully awkward long time. And Beetlejuice found himself grinding his crooked, nicotine stained teeth in agitation.

"We were so worried about you."  
Barbara exclaimed pulling back but still keeping a hold on her shoulders, surveying her at arms length.  
"We were expecting you back ages ago and thought that-"  
Her words trailed off, suddenly noticing the jacket which still hung around Lydia's slight shoulders. She felt like a complete simpleton for not having noticed it sooner.

Realising her mistake, Lydia inwardly scorned herself, her cheeks flaming under Barbara's intense glare.  
How could she have forgotten about that? And as her eyes panned the hallway, doing a quick search for the owner, she found herself wondering whether or not he'd remembered but kept silent out of devilment.

"Lydia..."  
The kindly woman took a sharp intake of breath, trying with all her might to remain as calm as possible.  
"...where is he?"

Watching with growing interest, Beetlejuice leaned with his elbows against the bannister, and conjured a lit cigarette. Eagerly anticipating his wife's reply.  
This was sure better than watching any crappy soap opera on the TV. 

"He?"  
Otho piped up from the sitting room doorway, playing absentmindedly with the olive in his glass.  
"Who's he?"

With classic timing, the front door suddenly swung open and a frazzled looking Charles tumbled in, followed closely by a seriously disgruntled Delia.  
"Beetlejuice!"  
She wailed, earning a vehement 'hush' from the Maitland's and her husband.

"Don't. Don't say it."  
Charles urged her, his nerves now in tatters.  
"Wasn't once today enough for you? You'll bring him back again if you're not careful!"

"Oh....him."  
Otho swallowed. His Adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down above his silk cravat.  
"I thought that monochrome monstrosity seemed unpleasantly familiar somehow."  
He indicated towards the jacket with a look of distaste. And it was only then that Charles seemed to notice his daughter standing in the middle of the hallway.

"Lydia! Oh thank god you're safe!"  
He made to embrace her, but then recoiled back as though the jacket itself might suddenly spring to life and try to murder him.  
"Where is he, pumpkin? He isn't still here is he? He's...he's gone now, right?"

"That's what I want to know?"  
Barbara cut in, turning expectantly once more to the hapless young woman.  
"He should be here."

"You've obviously seen him, haven't you Lydia?"  
Adam now chimed in, edging closer to her.

"Seen him! The entire town has seen him. And she did a lot more than simply 'see' him..."  
Delia was trilling now, her voice cutting through the air like nails down a chalkboard. And unbeknownst to her, Beetlejuice's chest shifted momentarily in a silent chortle.  
"....my eyes can never un-see what I saw today. I kid you not, in full public view she allowed that devil to kiss her, full on the lips!"

Like in a scene from a comedy sketch, there was a collective gasp, followed by excruciating silence. In that moment a pin would've been audible dropping on the polished oak floorboards and Lydia found herself praying that the floor could somehow open up and swallow her, putting her out of her misery. Perhaps Beetlejuice could make that happen. Even a perfectly timed sandworm crashing through the ceiling would've been a favourable alternative to this.

Finally it was Otho who shattered the heavy silence by clapping his chubby hands noisily, rubbing them together with uninhibited glee.  
"Oooh, drama!"  
He crooned, unapologetically.  
"You know I love it!"

"Otho!"  
Delia snapped, and for a moment Lydia thought her stepmother might actually reproach him on her behalf for his tactlessness. But that foolish notion was quickly quashed when she added..  
"This is my reputation at stake here. How can you joke at a time like this?"

"Why would you presume I was joking?"

Gnashing his teeth, Beetlejuice discarded his half smoked cigarette, tossing it down the stairs, where it dispersed into thin air before hitting the ground.  
Seeing Lydia rounded on was proving to be a bridge too far. She looked so vulnerable and defenceless, pulling his jacket tight around her with a 'I'm-living-in-a-nightmare' expression on her face.  
Deciding that action needed to be taken, he tugged at the cuffs of his grubby white shirt, rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck.  
"It's showtime."  
He smirked, extending his arms outwards.

Suddenly the lights in the hallway flickered out, plunging them all into darkness.  
Ignoring their cries and shrieks of panic, he channelled his energy and conjured himself a fresh suit. Still striped, which was his preferred guise, but this one was perfectly tailored and sleek, with black satin trim on the lapels, and long coat tails. His shirt became ruffle-fronted, his tie transformed into a black satin bow tie, and a striped top hat now sat askew on his head. With a sharp flick of the wrist, a black walking cane materialised in his hand, completing the look.

The voices in the hall dissolved into horrified silence when a spotlight appeared at the top of the stairs, revealing him in all his ghoulish glory. Placing a steady hand on the bannister, he flipped his legs over the rail and slid along it to the foot of the stairs. The spotlight following him all the way as he went, and when he reached the end he impressively flipped in mid air, only staggering slightly upon landing.

"Ta-dah! Whoops, shit...gotta work on the dismount."  
He sniggered as if to himself, before dipping from the waist, taking a deep flamboyant bow.  
"Gonna lose points for that. Got some pretty harsh fuckin' critics in tonight."  
With a flourishing arm, extending out into the air and waving in an arrogant fashion, the lights came back on.

Shaking her head as if waking from a trance, Lydia reluctantly took in the expressions of everyone around her.  
Following her lead, Beetlejuice moved jauntily into the centre of the hallway with his trademark cocky swagger. Twisting around with a snap and flair, coat tails flying with the rapid momentum of his turn.  
"Well, who do we have in tonight? Shit, ever had deja vu? And why's everything got so quiet in here all of a sudden? Fuck, it's not as if somebody died. C'mon ain't one of you got anythin' to say to me, huh?" 

Sensing the rising tension and discomfort of all gathered, Lydia moved towards him. Her blood pressure instantly rising.  
Barbara instinctively made a grab for her hand but she successfully swerved her grasp, enabling her to draw up next to him.  
"Please, please don't hurt anyone Beej. And don't terrorise my dad, he could have another heart attack."

Leaning forward, resting his weight on the cane, he regarded her with a look of feigned hurt.  
"You wound me darlin', as if I'd do a thing like tha- wait, what?"  
Faltering, his pointed eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath the brim of his hat.  
"Did you just call me Beej? For fucks sake Lyds, these pet names are gettin' worse!"

Turning back to face her family, she forced a nervous smile as she attempted to reassure them all they weren't at any risk.  
"Guys, please just take it easy. Okay? Me and him are..."  
She indicated between herself and the unlikely object of her affections and desires.  
"...well we're um...all good. So relax, he won't hurt you or me."

Squaring her shoulders, Barbara was the first to speak up.  
"Lydia you've no idea who you're dealing with. He can't be trusted. Please, just step away from him."

"Whoa! What d'you mean, 'step away from him'?"  
Beetlejuice rasped, waving his hands around wildly in the air. And ironically Lydia had to dip backwards in order to avoid being inadvertently thwacked with the cane.  
"I ain't a fuckin' land mine, and I ain't gonna hurt my own wife."

"Wife?"  
Otho echoed, now utterly bewildered.  
"Really? Did I miss something?"

"That's still to be determined."  
Adam interjected quietly, before being silenced by his own wife.

"No, there's nothing to be determined! The marriage counts for nothing here, nothing. Don't listen to him."

"Well it's news to me."  
Delia supplied, as Otho turned to stare at her now, askance.  
"As far as I knew, nothing was finalised. And was it even legal? I mean, even the reverend didn't seem legitimate to me."

"Aww, c'mon mom."  
Beetlejuice scooted over towards his supposed in-laws now, lifting his top hat he pulled out a fist full of flowers - coincidentally juiced from the flower bed of the Deetz's garden - and stood poised, holding them out.  
"Don't be like that, give a dead guy a break would ya? Look I got these just for you."

Smiling tersely, Delia couldn't refrain from showing her immense irritation at his back-handed gesture.  
"Yes, and how convenient that they were picked right from the back gate of my own home!"

"But it's the thought that counts dear."  
Charles added hurriedly, grimacing at the closeness of the poltergeist's proximity. 

"Look, whether you approve or not is inconsequential. I made a deal with him, so we're married or as good as."  
Lydia found her voice, and spoke with conviction. Tilting her chin upwards in defiance.  
"And once you get to know him, he really isn't all that bad."

"Seriously Lydia?"  
Otho knocked back the martini in one gulp, as if in dire need of alcohol in order to aid him in digesting the revelations that were coming to light in his presence.  
"You mean you're happy to call this your husband?"  
Quite forgetting himself, he gestured his arm towards the menacing spectre.  
"This?!...It's like if coffee and nightmares had a baby."

Visibly flinching, Lydia was rendered speechless by Beetlejuice suddenly erupting with laughter. Throwing his head back, he let out a spine-tingling cackle until his throat became hoarse. He drew a deep breath, sighed, cleared his throat and then responded with a tone of authority.  
"Ah, you're real funny. That was fuckin' hilarious round boy."  
He flashed Otho a particularly toothy but sinister smirk.  
"But with a face like yours I'd be careful 'bout who and what I made fun of. Now why don't you go outside and play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself? Before I make your asshole grow tastebuds."

Pathetically, the man's bottom lip actually quivered. Perhaps from the memory of having had his designer black knit jacket and Aztec slim Jim transformed into a hideous blue polyester lounge suit by the titular Beetlejuice.  
Assumedly on that occasion, the malicious entity had recognised a hopeless slave to fashion when he saw one, and had rightly assumed that such a sartorial gaffe represented a fate worse than death for him.

"Lydia, you don't know him."  
Barbara repeated, ploughing on relentlessly like a broken record, or a robot pre-programmed to despise Beetlejuice's very existence.  
"You've no idea what he's capable of. He's dangerous."

"Not to mention how you're going to go through life with a corpse as a husband."  
Delia joined in, much to Barbara's relief.  
"I mean, he's dead Lydia. The man has a grave and everything."

"Gee ma...you think I can't pull off a convincing impersonation of a breather? Shit, give me some fuckin' credit. I used to be one after all."  
Beetlejuice drawled, sardonically.  
And then he did something which completely floored everyone. Including Lydia.  
Focusing intensely, he altered his appearance, reverting back to how he looked when he was alive. The illusion stripped the mould and centuries of decay and grime away, until a clean, handsome and barely recognisable man with thick, dark blonde hair stood before them.  
"D'ya like that?"  
He asked in a seductive, sultry voice, quirking his distinctively pointed eyebrow.

Delia let out an inarticulate noise, and clasped a hand to her chest dramatically. Flashing a sexy smile, which displayed his dimple, he did little to hide his delight at the unsuspecting woman's reaction, and the affect he'd had on her. Then his twinkling eyes locked on Lydia, and seeing her waver slightly on her feet, gave him immeasurable satisfaction.  
She tried to breath, but she was ensnared by his raw sexuality.  
God he was hot. His face was so much more mature somehow, and more shuttered than ever before, and impossibly handsome. With his long nose and cute dimple.

And it wasn't just the women who appeared to be spellbound by his image overhaul. Otho stared, mouth agape, in awe of the amazing transformation.  
"Hey, slow your roll fella."  
The poltergeist chuckled in amusement.  
"You ain't gettin' your hands on these buns, hon."

Then with a snap of his fingers, his original form returned. And whilst Delia huffed disapprovingly, Lydia found herself unexpectedly relieved to have her Beetlejuice back.  
There, she'd said it in her head...'her' Beetlejuice.

"Oh please."  
Barbara scoffed, though she'd been subconsciously smoothing down her prim, floral dress the entire time.  
"This changes nothing. So you can alter your looks, that doesn't change who you are. You're evil to the core."

Searching for a friendly face amidst the looks of judgemental scepticism and mistrust, Lydia's eyes came to rest now on Adam. And she willed him to say something, anything, comforting. Some wise words of wisdom to help alleviate the intolerable and impossible predicament she found herself in.  
Removing his glasses slowly, he carefully began cleaning them on his plaid shirt. A ritual of his when feeling nervous.  
"Lydia, we just want what's best for you. But whatever you think you may feel now, you've got to ask yourself are you still going to feel the same as you grow older? Think about the future. You're going to go to college, and make new friends.."

"And meet lots of nice, suitable young boys."  
Delia chirped, placing heavy emphasis  on the word young.

"What, so you think I'll grow out of him? Like as though he's some kind of phase?"  
Lydia's question aptly seemed to be more of a statement. And she wrinkled up her small nose in apparent upset and disgust.

"Lydia you're so young.."  
Barbara was practically wringing her hands in despair.  
"And marriage is a huge commitment. He's had his life, yours is still ahead of you. He can't love, cherish and take care of you. You can't place your trust and future happiness in his hands, he doesn't care."

"Okay, y'all need to stop talking about me like I ain't fuckin here!"  
Beetlejuice's guttural voice was low now, and bone-chilling. He was silently seething.  
"In case you've all failed to notice, I've been very well behaved so far. I've toned it down, and I haven't killed or fucked anyone up...yet. Why? Because contrary to popular fuckin' belief, I do care about Lydia and I don't wanna upset her. But..."  
Raising his hand, he held up a filthy finger.  
"...you folks are really starting to grip my shit. So how's about you give her space to breath, and cut her some slack, okay? She ain't on trial here, and neither am I."

Undoubtedly moved by his sincere, albeit somewhat intimidating proclamation, Lydia moved so that they were standing side by side, and boldly took his hand gently in hers.  
Surprised by this impromptu gesture, her touch had an almost immediate calming influence on him, and he turned his head to look at her. Looking comically unamused, he saw the annoyance and upset simmering in her hazel orbs. But behind the anger was a look that betrayed her true feelings. The look of love in those eyes was unmistakable, and it made his brittle heart lurch as it dawned on him that he'd seen that look before, but only now could he read it...he hadn't realised then, or dared hope that it was love he saw there.  
Well, holy shit.  
Didn't he feel like a complete fuck nugget. Had he really been too caught up in the infernal chase to see that she already loved him? 

Incensed by the sickening sight of her beloved surrogate daughter willingly but blindly falling for the deplorable parasite, Barbara sensed it was time to deal the girl she loved a blow that would undoubtedly shake her faith in him. She'd saved her from the clutches of this monster before, she could do it again. Even if it meant utterly and thoroughly breaking her heart. It was for her own good, she reassured herself.  
"Don't be lulled Lydia, he's a con artist. It's what he does best, he's well practised."  
She persisted, in one final desperate attempt at driving a wedge between the odd couple.  
"He was going to make another deal, one that guaranteed his freedom from the curse as long as he relinquished his hold over you."

Beetlejuice's hand tightened painfully around Lydia's, causing her to flinch slightly with discomfort.  
Why was he tensing in such a way? Surely there could be no truth to Barbara's allegations. And what was this curse she spoke of?

"We came to an agreement, he asked for three weeks, we gave him three hours to make a decision, didn't we Adam?"  
Turning to her distressed looking husband, she gave him a knowing look. Encouraging him to produce the document as evidence.  
"He only wanted that time to keep working on you, in a last ditch attempt at winning you over just so he can get what he wants from you....free entertainment and a way to break the binding curse."

"W-what?"  
Lydia stammered, feeling suddenly quite winded, as though a herd of wild, stampeding elephants were trampling across her chest. Making it difficult to breath.  
"What curse?"  
She stared up at her wretched husband with her big, wide eyes, and saw him instantly react. His entire body language changing. He had been standing relaxed, leaning against her. Now he was stood straight, shooting Barbara what could only be described as a cold, empty dagger stare.

"You mean you don't know about the curse?"  
Adam asked nervously, handing the crumpled document to Barbara.  
"I think Barb has just proved her point. You don't know him all that well, do you?"

Beetlejuice felt his eye begin to twitch, and if he had been a complete homicidal maniac this would be the moment that he flipped his shit and ruined everyone's night. Scratch that...lives. Ruined everyone's life.  
Instead he managed to suppress the frothing rage he felt blistering within, and fought to regain his composure. Slipping on his usual mask of arrogant indifference.  
"So what, it's a curse? Big fuckin' deal. Who gives a rats arse about the details. I told her I was an illegal alien right from the start, so what difference does it make?"

"But why didn't you just tell me?"  
Lydia managed to grind out, her voice sounding more shrill than she'd intended.  
"And is that true? You were just buying yourself some more time? Weighing up your options, deciding if it was worth committing yourself to a new deal?"

"No! No, no, no it was nuthin' like that...I mean, well sure yeah they made me a proposition, but I was just stalling for time to get them off my back, babe. You know? They were busting my balls. But I swear, I had no intention of signing that fuckin' contract. None whatsoever."  
He babbled, reluctant to meet her eyes.

"And then there's the other women Lydia.."  
Barbara hastily threw in for good measure. Adding fuel to the proverbial fire.  
"Just ask him. Ask him about Martina."

"Who?"  
He barked gruffly, taking his hat off and tossing it over his shoulder as though he weren't capable of thinking straight whilst wearing it.  
"Who the hell is Martina? I ain't never heard of-"

"Miss Argentina."  
Barbara clarified triumphantly, her hands now moving to her hips.

Beetlejuice's green eyes widened in their dark sockets, as recognition dawned on him. The penny having dropped.  
"Oh...her."

"You, you said there hadn't been anyone else since the wedding."  
Lydia whirled around to face him now, pointing an accusing finger in his face.  
"So you lied to me about that as well. And all of this has been nothing but a sham."

"I didn't sleep with her, honest. I didn't. I didn't do it. We sorta fooled around a little, that's all. But I barely touched her, and most definitely didn't screw her. Though I'm starting to wish I had now, seeing as how you seem convinced that I did."

"What?"  
Lydia erupted, shooting him a look that could strip paint.  
"You are fucking unbelievable, do you know that? But what's worse is that I actually trusted you. I trusted you, and you used me.."  
In temper she pushed him, his shoulders swayed back but he didn't budge.  
"...and...and you actually made me care about you."  
In an instant she went from enraged and angry, to heartbreakingly sad. Her voice wobbled  with emotion, and tears pooled in her large eyes.

"I didn't use you. Well I can see how it might look that way, but things changed. Shit, I wasn't expecting it to happen. But it did. D'ya think I'd have given you my ring if it didn't fuckin' mean somethin'?"  
Frantic now, he grabbed her and attempted to pull her close, but she struggled wildly against him, and managed to extricate herself from his grasp.

"Mean something? To you? How can I believe a word you say?"  
She felt heavy, and strange and hollow inside. An insane buzzing feeling in her head made it impossible for her to think clearly or keep still, as the anger, hurt and bitter disappointment boiled in her blood. Pacing back and forth, she tugged on the red garnet ring in anguish. But her attempts were in vain, as the stubborn thing refused to budge.  
"Take this off. Take it off, I don't want it!"

"No!"  
He snarled menacingly, becoming alarmingly angry.  
He looked infuriated and absolutely terrifying. So much so that everyone in the room jumped backwards.  
"You accepted it, and it did fuckin' mean somethin'. It meant somethin' to me, otherwise d'ya think for one goddamned second you'd be wearing it now? That ring has sentimental fuckin' value, but you'll keep it on your finger, and die wearing it....whether you hate me now or not, I won't take it back."

Flustered, Lydia felt a sob rising in her chest, and unwilling to crumple into an emotional heap on the hallway floor in front of everyone, she turned and fled towards the stairs.  
"Just leave me the fuck alone. Okay. I want to be alone."  
Overwhelmed and exhausted, she felt emotionally wrung out, as if she'd been put through a clothes mangle.

"Lydia?"  
Barbara called out, just as Beetlejuice rushed passed, attempting to bolt after her.

But then suddenly the room darkened, causing him to skid to a halt at the foot of the stairs. Something felt decidedly off.

"Beetlejuice....."  
A chillingly familiar voice suddenly filled his ears, and hesitantly he turned his head slowly whilst simultaneously praying frantically to each and every god he could think of off the top of his head. Pleading, and offering any bribe or sacrifice they may desire in return for delivering him from this particular evil. The queen of the harpy's herself. But he was only delaying the inevitable, and his worse fears were confirmed.  
Meandering through the doorway, cigarette clutched in hand, the Deetz's, their portly acquaintance and the Maitland's alike, all parted like the Red Sea for her..granting the small, frail lookin apparition access into the hallway.

He stood immobile, and statue-like as she came to a stop in the middle of the room. Her steely gaze boring holes into his head.  
"You're looking good. Well better at least. Not half bad for a dead man. You've lost weight..it makes you look about three hundred years younger. Still a tad gaudy and brash but-"

"Okay, okay...cut the crap Juno, let's just get on with this shall we?"  
He spat out, lips curling like a savage dog. 

Shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly, she took an impossibly long drag on her cigarette, as if taking great relish in prolonging his suffering. Or testing him to see if he dared try pulling any stunts, like trying to escape. Like he'd done so many times before.  
But not this time...

"If you insist, Beetlejuice..."  
She spoke casually, as though bored. Before saying it one final time.  
"...Beetlejuice.."

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++

 

That night, sleep did not come easy for Lydia.  
Locking herself away in her room, she closed herself off from her useless parents. Her irritating, senseless stepmother, and the father who never failed to disappoint when it came to standing around like a panic-stricken idiot at the first signs of any threat or trouble.

But she was also shutting herself off from the Maitland's. The overbearing, interfering Barbara.  
It stung like she'd been slapped, knowing that they'd conspired behind her back. In her eyes, they were almost as guilty as 'him' when it came to treating her as though she were some kind of leverage or bargaining tool. 

And whilst she knew they did have her best interests at heart, the sense of betrayal cut her to the quick. They were as good as family. She at least expected sculduggery and underhanded, shady dealings when it came to Beetlejuice....but not the kind, loving Maitland's.  
The thoughtless, selfishness of all involved, incensed her. And after screaming and crying into her pillow, she resorted to pacing around her room aimlessly. Her bare feet sliding on the cool, smooth, wooden floor whilst drawing in deep, calming breaths.  
Not knowing what she was doing or where she was going, she tried to shake off the restless, nervous energy and upset that clung to her like an invisible widows veil. She felt like she was in mourning, her world had crashed and burned around her.  
Earlier in the evening she'd felt weightless, blissfully unaware as she floated away on cloud number 9. Now she had acquired her own personal thundercloud, and she could just envisage it hanging above her head, following her around complete with occasional angry bolts of lighting.

It was quiet. Annoyingly quiet. But she refused to dwell upon the suffocating silence of her room. Eventually her legs had grown weary, and her red-rimmed, tear swollen eyes had grown heavy. Retiring to bed, she finally drifted off to sleep. The emotional roller coaster of a day having taken its toll.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Cursing to himself, Beetlejuice smacked his hand against his temple unnecessarily forcefully. He needed to get his shit together, and concentrate.  
Closing his eyes, he attempted once more to open his mind, and mentally connect with a different frequency of existence.  
Whilst his body remained grounded, quite literally, he projected all of his energy out into the astral plane. Reaching further, he searched around in the haziness. Picking up on the occasional spirit, and an endless procession of breathers' subconsciousness.

He'd been at this for hours now, but he was unwilling to give up. He knew he would find her eventually. She had to be out there. 

And of course he was right. His persistence and efforts finally paid off. Catching the faint glimpse of dark hair, and alabaster skin, his entire body tingled with anticipation. Boom! He had found her.  
Carefully, he proceeded...edging nearer, mindful of the fragile state of her dreamscape, he knew one false move would result in it cracking. Which could disrupt her sleep, and then he'd lose contact.

"Lydia."  
He called out to her, from what appeared to be the opposite side of an immeasurable pane of glass. That was it, they were surrounded by a blank, white landscape, with one big fuckin' pane of glass between them. Dividing them on opposite sides.  
Shit, even in her dreams he was stuck behind a barrier. And it wasn't looking too promising, being as she couldn't hear or see him.  
She just stood, with her head down. Staring at the blankness at her feet.  
Dressed in a black, spiderweb poncho, he admired her get-up. Emitting a low whistle at the sight of her legs clad in tight black leggings. Her outfit was most definitely the most exciting thing about this dream.  
"Your subconscious thought is seriously fuckin' messed up babe."  
He muttered, in spite of her being unable to hear.  
But seriously, who dreamed dreams like this? It was so excruciatingly boring. 

Treading cautiously, he felt the ground tremble and shake beneath his boots. Threatening to split under the unexpected, added weight of him, an unaccounted for trespasser.  
"Kinda glad I lost a couple pounds."  
He mumbled, creeping towards the glass. There was no way of successfully tip-toeing in biker boots. There just wasn't. And unfortunately, and much to his immense irritation, he wasn't able to levitate. It was taking every ounce of his power to be here, and keep the dream relatively stable and prevent it from fracturing.

"Lydia!"  
He called out again at the top of his lungs, but still his voice couldn't penetrate the sound-proof barrier.  
Okay. So how was he going to make this work if he couldn't even reach her properly? Damn. This dream-bridging malarkey was such a pain in the ass.  
Placing his hands against the glass, he let his head fall forwards in defeat. Hitting the glass hard, it caused another tremor to ripple underfoot and along the barrier.  
He stayed like that for some time, leaning forwards with his forehead resting on the cold hard obstruction which was keeping him from her. 

Several minutes passed, until he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. A glimmer of dark material, which was much closer now.  
Raising his head, he found himself face to face with her. Blinking rapidly, she eyed him curiously as though seeing him for the first time. And who knows, perhaps in this dream she was. He had gatecrashed after all.  
Spurred into action, he eagerly pressed his palms to the glass and gave her a long, meaningful look.  
Not missing a beat, she followed suit by placing her own against the reflection of his.  
"Come on...work."  
He hissed under his breath, pushing his abilities to the limit as he psychically began breaching the barrier.

With a jolt, he felt the warmth of her skin, and wasted no time in entwining his fingers through hers.  
"Let me help you step through the glass Lyds."  
He informed her, and knew she'd either heard or understood when he took a step backwards, and she stepped forwards, allowing herself to be guided across.  
The dreamscape shook violently again, and the glass rippled like water as with one more step, she made it through to the other side.

"Beetlejuice?"  
She cried, flinging her arms around his neck, she clung to him as her dream literally began to fall apart around them.

"Perfect. Say the B word two more times, so we can get the fuck outta here."  
Placing a strong, protective arm around her middle, she gratefully leaned into him..

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

In a flash, she'd barely blinked when suddenly she found herself in a dark, damp and disgustingly dingy place. The brightness of the previous environment having given way to a dimly lit, enclosed space that reminded her of an underground bunker.  
An unmade narrow bed lay along one wall, and a tattered looking easy chair sat in the corner, a small table next to it was strewn with half burned down candles, the wax having melted all over the surface, empty beer bottles, an overflowing ashtray, and a discarded copy of a yellowing newspaper.

"Am I still dreaming?"  
She asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Nope. You're uh...back at my place."  
He smiled a twisted smile, and began moving around the small room haphazardly juicing some of the litter away.  
"Yeah, the place is a bit of a mess. Pay no attention to it-"

"Wait, how did I get here if this isn't a dream?"  
She frowned, visibly stumped.  
"Are you sure I'm not dreaming?"

"Sure I'm sure. You're in a six foot fuckin' hole in the ground, babe. I mean it's not much, but it's mine. My 'plot' as it were."  
Snorting loudly, he sniggered at his own joke.

"I'm what? How? How is that even possible?"

"Because I have your soul."  
He replied ominously, and the eerie words resounded inside her head. Chilling her to the bone.

Chancing a look down, she quickly surveyed herself and was relieved to find she looked the same as she always did. Running her hands down each of her arms she did a quick touch test, and similarly found everything felt solid and real as it should be.  
But his words had unnerved her.  
"M-my soul? But...but what about my body?"

"Oh yeah, about that.."  
Juicing himself a lit cigarette, he lowered his chin and sharpened his gaze at her.  
"...would you mind if I killed you?"


	14. A Grave Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia learns some dark truths about her secretive husband. And amidst the upset, she reveals some startling secrets of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
> Okay guys, this is a shorter chapter, hence it being completed and posted a lot sooner, but I didn't want to leave it too long without updating.  
> Just want to give you all a heads up - this chapter is kind of dark, and some people may find the content upsetting. Nothing graphic, just strong language and mild descriptions of suicide and violent deaths.

Smiling nervously, Lydia tried to ignore the fear she felt forming a tight knot within her gut.  
He couldn't have meant that. And she waited, holding her breath, hoping that any second now she'd wake up and realise this had all been a profound nightmare.

Beetlejuice was many things, but a killer? No, he wasn't that. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't harm her, especially not now. Not after what they'd shared.  
Then suddenly Barbara's words were echoing inside her head..

"you don't know him. He's dangerous. You don't know what he's capable of."

Shaking her head vigorously she tried to rid herself of the unwanted thoughts that were now careering around her mind. It wasn't possible. Surely she couldn't have gotten it so wrong.  
She noticed the way he stood before her, his shining eyes glistening in the gloom, scanning her face. Awaiting her reaction.  
Fortunately for her, Beetlejuice lacked the ability to keep silent for long, and he spoke again so that she needn't respond to his outlandish question.

"You gotta understand that I need to. 'Cause I err, well I can't take you back. I've been put back here, and I ain't goin' anywhere unless some breather calls me. And well..."  
Pausing to drag on his cigarette, the emanating smoke hung in the damp air of the confined space. Shrouding his glittering eyes, and shallow smile.  
"...There's just no way back for me now, I'm stuck here. So I guess that makes two of us."

"But..but what exactly did you mean, about killing me? And why do you need to? I don't understand."  
What was happening here? She felt as if she were being targeted by a bad joke  
.  
"'Cause I got your damn soul, I just told you that. Are you paying attention or what? I intercepted your dream, luckily for me, you're a lucid dreamer, so I managed to bridge the barrier to get to ya, and well...the fabric of your dreamscape kinda got fucked up. So I brought you across the astral, back here."

Swallowing hard, Lydia drew a deep breath in order to try and steady her rising panic.  
"The astral? W-what is that?"

"The astral plane, it's a place of existence crossed by the soul in it's astral body on the way to being born. But you get the odd spirit or immaterial being wandering around up there, or breathers dabbling with astral projection...that's real dicey, I tell ya'." 

"So what's going to happen to me? What about my body?"

Seeming completely indifferent to her distress, Beetlejuice strutted across the small space, and flopped heavily into the tattered, worn out armchair.  
"It'll be in some kind'a catatonic state, ya' know? Like as if you're unconscious. And then you'll most probably slip into a coma or somethin' and end up on life support or some shit like that..."  
Crossing his legs, he rested a booted ankle on his thigh and began bobbing his knee up and down, swaying it in a frivolous manner.  
"...but it won't be too long before they switch the machine off. D'ya got any idea how much that shit costs? Whew wee, that'll soon burn a hole in daddy's wallet."

A feeling of dread crept up from the pit of her stomach, his blasé attitude was enough to make her blood run cold. He seemed deadly serious. As serious as a heart attack. She didn't understand, though she desperately tried to. He'd somehow invaded her dream, and stolen her soul. And now she was trapped here, leaving her body soulless like an empty shell. Until it withered and died.  
"Oh god. Why? Why did you bring me here?"  
She demanded, her voice breaking as she did so.

"Why? Because you're my wife."  
He retorted, frowning at her as if his actions were self explanatory.  
"The problem is, I've grown a little too attached...and yeah I guess you could say I'm being a bit of a selfish prick but hey, look on the bright side babe. We get to spend eternity together. That is, unless we can break the damn curse. Then our problem is solved."

"Too attached? You, you've basically kidnapped me! And now I'm going to die!"  
Eyes widening in alarm like a captured animal, her hands tugged on her hair in frustration until it was askew.  
"I can't do this, I can't be here, in a grave...I just can't!"  
She wailed, now teetering on the brink of hysteria.  
It was cold here, and the menacing aura seemed to embalm her, causing the hairs to rise on the back of her slender neck.

"Sure ya can. You'll get used to it."  
He replied, his dry lips now having taken on a distinctly blue tinge in the eerie glow of the candle light.  
"And besides it's your grave now, my love. You may as well enjoy it. And it'll give us plenty of time to get to know each other better, right?"

"No."  
Her reply was sharp and cut through him like a knife. That one word wounding him more deeply than any blade or bullet ever could.  
"I thought I knew you. But I was wrong...god, I was so wrong. How could I have been so stupid?"

His foot fell from his lap, and the impact of his boot hitting the wooden floor of the coffin made the walls shake, sending a rain of dust and dirt down from the roof.  
"And what's that supposed to mean, huh?"  
He growled, leaning forwards in the chair, his eyes took on a glacial, marbled appearance.  
She had seen this look before, but she could not recall having been quite as startled by it as she was now, due to it being directed at her.

"Well, what do you expect? I trusted you, and look what you've done? I thought I knew you, I..."  
Her mouth ran dry and her throat tightened.  
"..I cared about you, and the worst part is I still fucking do. Even though you lied to me, and kept secrets. But I never would've thought you were a murderer."

Unbelievably he let out a sudden burst of laughter, as though thoroughly amused by her naivety.  
"Shucks babe, I'm a bio exorcist. You knew that, right? It's my job to get rid of the living, and that means doin' whatever I gotta do to get the job done."

"And that means....killing people?"  
She whimpered. Already knowing the answer to the question, and she was neither willing nor prepared to hear it.

Sucking in his sallow cheeks, he stubbed the butt of his burnt down cigarette into the already full ashtray, the brusqueness of his movements spilling its contents all over the wax encrusted table.  
"Sometimes....if I have to. Mostly I just fuck 'em up. The ones I kill, they're the stubborn fuckers, ya' know? They don't wanna leave their house. Shit, I don't really wanna kill anybody. But when I make a deal and take a job, I see it through to the bitter fuckin' end, cause I'm a professional."

Instinctively Lydia found herself backing up slowly, edging away from him until her back met with the cold, splintered wood of the coffin wall.  
"What do you do? Go around knocking people down stairs and stuff? Or dropping them over banisters?"

Raising a pointed eyebrow, he duly noted her sardonic remark. Remembering his assault on her hapless father and the mildly annoying but not entirely unlikeable Otho.  
"Nope. That was just a scare tactic, I never intended on killin' your folks. The Maitland's didn't want any of you dead." 

"S-so what do you do?"

Flicking his wrist he conjured a bottle of beer and took a long swig of it, before setting it down on the table. Leaning back in the chair, he rested his elbow on the beaten up arm, and gazed at her.  
As much as she disliked being stared at with eyes of marbled glass, she forced herself to maintain eye contact.  
"Ever heard of the expression 'scared to death'?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded meekly.  
"Yea, of course."

"Well, that's what I do. Not always literally, 'cause the chances of a breather dying from fear is a rarity. But it all depends on how their body reacts to the adrenaline and shit, from being scared. But, I can alter reality and cast an illusion that terrifies the living hell outta' them, or cause 'em to hallucinate so they pretty much kill themselves. Dumb fucks."  
Pausing to clear his throat, he coughed and spat a wad of snot over the arm of the chair, onto the floor. 

But his actions went unnoticed by Lydia, as she stood paralysed to the spot as a result of his words.

"So, yeah...when I shape-shift my face into a gaping hole crawling with maggots, or they're hallucinating they're on fuckin' fire, or a swarm of giant hornets are chasing their sorry ass...you can bet your bottom dollar sooner or later they'll take a tumble out of a window, or run into the road or somethin'" 

"God...that's awful. That's so fucking awful!"  
She gasped. Her bottom lip quivering and her fear was rapidly being replaced by sorrow.  
As much as she enjoyed horror movies, this was reality. Her reality. And this was her husband. The cause of people's deaths. Like some demonic equivalent to Al Capone.  
"How many have you killed?"  
She asked, her voice trembling.

"Ah, not that many actually. Just a handful. Like I said, I tend to just fuck 'em up, you know, scare them so bad they need years of fuckin' therapy, or...end up in some mental institution, eating paint and lickin' windows."

"That's, that's evil. Barbara was right, you are evil."

"No it's life, Lydia. I told you this before. Shit happens."  
He raised his voice now, having become rapidly agitated.  
"We've all had shit happen to us, right? Shit that shouldn't have happened, but it does. And if fucks you up. If it doesn't kill you, it fucks you up. You must've had some bad shit happen to you, otherwise you wouldn't have been the suicidal, manic depressive that you were when I fist met ya."

Raising a hand to her small mouth, he saw her dark eyes become watery yet emblazoned with anger. They looked almost obsidian in the darkness, and the shimmering tears made them look even more mesmerising. Coupled with that inner fire which he found so unashamedly arousing, he had to quickly remind himself that she was visibly upset now, and he was the one responsible.

"Yes, I've had shit happen to me. For as long as I can remember I've seen things no living person should see. Orbs of light, weird shadow people. It was normal to me so I talked openly about it, until the bullying started at school. I became the class freak. I had no friends. My mother was a religious fanatic, she wanted to be a nun and ended up losing the plot. She thought my being born was her punishment for having sinful thoughts, so she never really wanted me anyway. But on top of that, I scared her. She thought I was some kind of devil child, like in the Omen.."  
She laughed now, her salty tears winding their way to her lips as they trailed down her grief-stricken face.  
"She had doctors check me out, but luckily they dismissed it as nothing more than my wild imagination. But she was convinced I was a succubus, so after her failed attempt at drowning me-"

"She did what?"  
He snapped, his hands flew to the arms of the chair, gripping them so tightly his long fingernails penetrated the fabric.

"She was bathing me one day, and all I can remember is her holding me down under the water. Fortunately for me, my dad was rich enough to afford a nanny, who heard me thrashing around. After that my dad threw mom out, and I never saw her again. I was five years old. Five! I didn't even know what the fuck a succubus was! And I couldn't understand what I'd done wrong. My dad was a workaholic, and then he married a woman that hates kids, she never wanted any of her own so she certainly didn't want me....but you know what?"  
She yelled breathlessly between sobs. Having scarcely stopped to draw breath. But all the hurt and anger was pouring out now, like a river that had burst its banks. And she was incapable of stemming the flow, as the words and tears continued flooding from her.  
"No matter how tempted I was to end it all, I didn't. Even when I seriously considered it a couple of years ago, after meeting Barb and Adam they made me feel wanted, and loved. That's why I was so upset when I thought they'd left, and I wanted to go after them. But I met you...and you asked me why. You asked me why I wanted to die, but you didn't push for an answer. You, and the Maitland's convinced me that ending it all, all the pain and rejection, wasn't the answer."

He was on his feet now, poised ready to move towards her. Wanting desperately to hold her, and somehow make everything alright. But he couldn't. He couldn't make his feet move, or his mouth talk. And he knew he was incapable of making everything right again. All he could do was blink dumbly and let her continue. Even though it was paining him more than his death had.

But she still hadn't quite finished her emotional tirade yet, though the tears were gradually subsiding. Her upset being replaced by angry indignation.  
"And...no matter how emotionally screwed up I am, I wouldn't wish any harm on innocent people. Unlike you. Is that how you justify your behaviour? You've suffered so you think it's okay to make others suffer? What could possibly have happened to make you so bitter and twisted?"

"I'm a freak okay? There, you have it. I'm just like you, but a hundred fuckin' times worse."  
He darted forwards but was mindful to stop short before he encroached on her personal space. Tact and diplomacy were not attributes he possessed, but seeing her shrink away from him affected him more deeply than he ever would've imagined. She was afraid of him. His Lydia, now feared and despised him.

Not knowing what else to do, he rubbed his face with his large hands, and heaved a weary sigh. Perhaps it was time he took his sister's advice, and prove the Maitland's wrong. He could open up. He already had to some extent. He'd crossed the line and there was no point in trying to beat a hasty retreat now.  
"If your psycho bitch mother had me as a kid, she'd have thought a fuckin' brain tumour was a birthday present."  
He said darkly, his voice sounding muffled behind his dirt engrained fingers.  
"But my mom, she was a fuckin' diamond. She had a heart of gold, despite everyone in town thinking she was crazy. Well, hey...who names their kids after stars? And I don't mean the kind you find on the red carpet in Hollywood. That wouldn't have been so bad."

"Kids? You have brothers and sisters?"  
She sniffled, unable to resist giving into her unrelenting curiosity.

"Yeah, I have a twin sister...Bellatrix. She's dead now too. Obviously, seeing as we were born in 1920. In good old Connecticut. My mom, Maria Pendagen...she was convinced we were special straight from the moment we popped out. Hence, the weird fuckin' names. Hell, she wouldn't even give us her surname. But who needs one? No chance of having too many kids in class with my name, huh."  
Conjuring another cigarette, he took a long, hard drag on it before proffering it to her.  
She took it gratefully with trembling fingers.

"So what happened?"  
She urged him to continue, blowing a small plume of smoke up into the dank atmosphere, where it created a ghostly mist in the candle light.

"Ha, well I knew shit I wasn't supposed to know. I remembered stuff from living before. I could move stuff without touching it. Telekinesis, my mom thought it was cool as fuck, and encouraged me to develop it. I saw dead people too...and Bella was pretty much the same. But she could predict shit happening before it went down, and I'm pretty sure she can read thoughts too. Anyway, my mom was so proud of us, she talked about us all the time. She talked a lot. She talked too much. It spooked my dad, he didn't believe any of it and he figured she was batshit crazy. So he had her hauled off to an asylum, where they lobotomised her."  
He turned away abruptly, and she immediately sensed he was struggling to keep his composure.  
"They drilled a goddamn hole into her skull. I was allowed one visit. One fuckin' visit, and by the time they let me see her she didn't even know who the hell I was."

"I...I'm sorry."  
Was all she could say, and the words sounded so hollow and meaningless as she spoke them. She wished there was something else she could say. But there weren't any words to make up for the horrors.

"There you go again, apologising for shit that ain't your fault."  
He forced a strained laugh, sniffed loudly and hastily wiped his face on the back of his sleeve.

"Is that why you committed suicided?"  
The words came tumbling out of her mouth and passed her teeth before she could prevent them, and she immediately hated herself for asking such a personal and insensitive question. But she also knew she might never have the opportunity again. 

Turning around slowly, his eyes were much softer now and tinged with sadness. The sorrow was evident in his hampered eyes, betraying his severely damaged soul. And in that moment she could've sworn she actually felt her heart break. Seeing her beloved yet wretched Beetlejuice look so broken and burdened.

"No. I was thirty six when I pulled that shit off. I fell for a girl who broke my heart, got blind fuckin' drunk and thought it was a good idea to hang myself in the fuckin' barn. Bad call, babe. Bad fuckin' call."

"You hanged yourself?"  
Handing the cigarette back to him, she could barely contain her shock. The thought of him ending his life in such a terrible way, and especially over a woman, seemed utterly impossible and atrocious.

"Yeah, how d'ya think I got this beautiful fuckin' voice?"  
He sniggered now, and she had to admire his ability to find dark humour in even the most dismal of circumstances.  
"Damage caused by pressure on the larynx. My neck didn't break, so I strangled to death slowly in excruciating fuckin' agony until I blacked out, thank god. Shit, I didn't even have the sense to pad the rope. Thin fuckin' rope, hurt like a bastard, and it sobered me up real quick. I realised then that I'd made a huge mistake, but there was nuthin' I could do."

Finding it too difficult to remain guarded against him, she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm.  
Her nerves were still jangling from all the emotional turmoil, and now this bizarre situation she found herself in - having been dragged off to hell, or as near as damn it. Stranded in his coffin, which thanks to his power it was larger on the inside like some strange, macabre version of the Tardis, but it was still immensely claustrophobic and oppressive. But suddenly none of that seemed to matter so much. Even his horrific confessions suddenly faded out of focus, and in spite of everything she wanted badly to kiss him. To find some sort of comfort in him.

"I told you once before, don't you dare feel fuckin' sorry for me."  
He warned, his tone firm but with no hint of malice..  
"Hell, I'm just so relieved that bitch-dick, ho-bag mother of yours didn't drown ya'...but I swear to fuckin' god if she ain't dead already I'd love to make the cunt suffer.....actually I can't call her that, she lacks the warmth and depth."  
And suddenly he was pulling her into him, enfolding her in his strong arms. Making her feel ironically safe and protected.  
So much so, she didn't even bother to chide him for his crass comment.

"You're angry that she tried to kill me, but you're willing to let me die by being here. How does that work?"  
She remarked instead, burying her tear stained face against his shirt.

Closing his eyes tightly, he rested his chin on the top of her head, stray strands of raven hair tickling his bottom lip.  
"Look, I've been a jerk. I wasn't fuckin' thinkin' straight, I just wanted you back with me. I never thought about you gettin' stuck down here. But there's nuthin' I can do, unless-"

"Unless what?"  
She cut in, pulling away in order to look up at him.

"Well unless this damn curse is broken, which I've no fuckin' idea how to do, seeing as I thought once you'd taken my ring and...."  
His words trailed off, and he gestured elaborately with his hands in an attempt to relay what he was trying to say without actually saying it. As though under the misapprehension she'd be able to decipher his strange sign language

"What? I don't know what that means!"  
She pointed out, and the fleeting memory of their first encounter and the game of charades, sprung to mind. And similarly, he reacted to her blank confusion in much the same way as he had then.

"Urgggh, c'mon! You know what I'm tryin' to say!"  
He growled in an irritated, booming voice. Thrashing his arms around in a fit of antagonistic frustration.

"No, that's the thing...I don't."  
She fired back at him, keeping her voice level and calm. It was like handling a toddler, and she'd handled this particular toddler before.  
"So, why don't you actually try telling me?"

"Shit, do I really have to spell it out for ya?"  
His jaw clenched, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

Folding her arms, she remained silent and nodded her head, almost imperceptibly. His agitation and incoherent rambling was testing her patience, and pushing her to the limits of her endurance.

"Uggh, I kinda thought...well, I sorta hoped that uh, ya' know maybe you err.."

"What?"  
Her patience was all but gone now. And if he hadn't already been dead she would've been sorely tempted to murder him. His bumbling was strangely adorable, and she would've laughed if she hadn't felt so emotionally frayed. As it were, it was too much given the circumstances. She was certain she'd run out of air sooner or later, and didn't want to die listening to his inane stammering.

"Alright, alright..I was kinda hoping that you might, I dunno...love me or somethin'"  
He managed finally, kicking the toe of his boot against the floor nervously, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.  
But his gaze was so piercing and quite at odds with his awkward demeanour. Searching her face, hopeful and ever so slightly anxious.  
"I mean I totally understand if you hate my rotten guts now after everything, but the thing is..." 

Her heart pounded as if it wanted to break through her chest, as he reached out and took her hands in his. His hands were cold, but hers were warm. Warm enough for both of them.

"...I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you babe."


	15. The Ghost With The Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, what can I say? This chapter is pure smut, with a sprinkling of fluff, and a dash of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
> Hey lovely people! I'm so sorry for the lateness of this update. Things have been really crazy lately on the home-front (adulting really sucks)  
> Anyhoo, thank you all for your patience and continued support. Your comments/kudos really do mean a lot to me, and keep me writing.  
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter....steamy scenes ahead - you have been warned ;)

******************************

 

It felt as though Lydia's heart was bursting out of her chest, and she half expected to drop dead on the spot at any any second.  
She was shocked. So utterly shocked by his unexpected and almost unwilling declaration. Her dainty hands dropped from his grasp, her jaw slackening as she stood with her eyes wider than usual, and her arms dangling uselessly by her sides.  
This couldn't be real, and she was too afraid to believe it.  
'He's just using you.' The nagging voice of doubt whispered in her mind, refusing to be silent. 'He doesn't meant it.'

His head had lowered now, and he was staring at the floor, seemingly enthralled by a crumpled up leaflet which advertised his services as a bio exorcist. Was he...embarrassed? No, that couldn't be right. It wasn't possible. Not the self proclaimed 'ghost with the most'. A title which she was starting to suspect was code for 'professional panty wetter'.

"What? So, you're trying to tell me that you..."  
Her words dissolved, unable to say any more for fear of speaking the words aloud. As if they were so fragile they might shatter and then be lost forever.

Huffing slightly, he raised his head, forcing himself to look directly into her eyes, and she felt that familiar inimitable warmth spread out through her body. 

"Yeah."  
His furrowed brow deepened in an anxious frown.  
He was so damn nervous he'd never felt such relief to be dead. Otherwise he'd have been worried about so much as breathing the wrong way. His guts had become an unrecognisable, churning mass of butterflies rather than beetles. And he found himself wondering yet again, how the hell this had happened to him. 

She looked worryingly alarmed, and as he gently pushed a rogue lock of hair behind her ear, he was careful to move in almost animated slow motion. She was like a butterfly herself, a beautiful black butterfly, a dark, delicate, skittish creature that may fly away from him at any moment if startled.

This wasn't exactly how he'd planned on telling her. In fact, he hadn't really seriously considered telling her at all. Instead, he'd hoped maybe she would've admitted her feelings, thus enabling him to respond with something much more simple such as a "yeah, me too."  
But in a moment of complete madness he'd decided he had to man-up and tell her. Regardless of the outcome, and whatever happened, he had to voice what his foolish heart wanted him to. He needed her to know how he felt.  
However, he still wasn't quite prepared for her next words...

"How do I know that you're not just saying that? For all I know you could just be tricking me, trying to break the curse."  
The uncertainty and doubt were blindingly visible in her beautiful, expressive face. Her chocolatey eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and her neat little nose wrinkled.

And that's when he felt it. The full on humiliation. The sadness. The complete agony of knowing that he'd just opened his withered, old heart and confessed to the love of his afterlife, who thought he was just after one thing. And not even a sexual favour at that.  
"What?? No!"  
He spluttered, recoiling away from her like a wounded cobra.  
"You think I'd do that? Really? Well, thanks Lyds. Thanks a fuckin' bunch. Ya' know, a guy spills his guts, and you have to go kick him in the balls, that's nice. Real nice."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't know what to think anymore. You've not exactly been honest with me. You even said right from the start that it's a marriage of inconvenience."  
She replied defensively, visibly surprised by his reaction.

"Yeah well, you said 'no' during the wedding vows but that ain't stopped ya' creaming over me has it?"

"Oh my god!"  
She yelled, embarrassment and fury imploding in equal measures.  
"I don't believe you'd say that."

"Yeah well you've made it pretty damn obvious ya' don't believe anythin' I say."  
He retorted, seemingly unfazed by her impaling stare.

"Well can you blame me? You've lied so much, you had an agenda and now you just expect me to believe that you've somehow fallen for me or something? It isn't that simple."

"Yeah it is. It is that simple."

"No it's not!"  
She insisted, her hands tugged at the corners of her spiderweb poncho, pulling on the soft, wispy material until the seams at her shoulders strained, threatening to come apart.  
"I don't buy it. And even if I did, telling me you love me can't just undo everything you've done. It's not a quick fix."

"I never fuckin' thought it would be-"

"No, just shut up for a minute and listen to me!"

His eyes widened at her unexpected outburst.  
The chick had balls, he had to give her that. But then, wasn't her feistiness one of the many things he found so utterly enchanting about her? That hidden fire that occasionally flickered to the surface never failed to entertain and beguile him.  
Rocking back on his heels, hands stuck in his pockets, his mouth tweaked slightly at the corner. Prompting her to scowl at him.

"Oh, you find this funny?"  
She accused scathingly. Her hands now flying to her hips.

"Mildly amusing, yeah."  
He admitted, throwing his hands up, his infamous twisted grin now firmly in place.  
"But hey, I'm being honest, right? Which is what you want."

Lydia was not a particularly violent person. But she wanted to slap him. She'd never had such a strong urge to slap anyone in her life.  
"Do you have any idea how obnoxious you are?"

"No but I kinda get the feelin' you're about to tell me."

"Ugh. God you're infuriating. Can't you be serious for one fucking minute? I'm trying to explain that trust has to be earned, and you've broken it. You of all people should've known how much it would hurt me because you know Brett did the exact same thing-"

"Whoa, now hang on! Don't you go comparing me to that little snot-nosed fuckwit. I should've done the world a favour and reduced him to a fuckin' smear on the sidewalk when I had the chance. Instead, thanks to you I'll have to make do with worshiping the ground that awaits his grave."

"Oh will you just stop with all the macho, overprotective bullshit!"  
She yelled. Anger was too kind a word to describe what she was feeling. Furious was more accurate.  
The fact that he appeared to be fixating solely on the mention of her ex's name rather than listening to what she was so desperately trying to say, brought all the pent up anger bubbling to the surface. And her hands trembled in temper.

"Bullshit?...Bullshit?"  
He yelled back at her, his own hands balled into fists, the sharp tips of his long, pointed nails digging deep into the rough skin of his palms.  
"I genuinely fuckin' care, and you call it bullshit!"  
Leaning forwards, the candlelight slashed across his features, casting half of his face in shadows.  
"You know...for a breather you sure as hell can be one cold bitch."

That was it. She felt something inside her snap, and instinctively brought her hand up and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped back with the force of it, but before she could move he'd caught hold of the wrist of the offending hand, gripping it alarmingly tightly.

"Let go of me!"  
She hissed, bringing her other hand up in an attempt to repeat the action, but he swiftly grasped that wrist too. Rendering her incapacitated.  
Before she could protest and make him sorry for that move, she herself began moving. As though someone had hit the fast-forward button on a video recorder. Her eyes struggled to focus as the room began to swirl, and she felt herself whipping around, before her back hit the wall with a slight thud.  
Realising she'd gone too far, she struggled to catch her breath as he held her pinned to the wall in a tightening grip. She could feel the sensation of her heart palpitating, forcing ripples of throbbing blood directly to her temples. 

"I'll let go of you, just as soon as ya' stop acting like a little brat!"  
Growling fiercely into her face, the sound of his venomous voice set a strange spark off to all her senses. 

His mind was struggling to catch up with what was happening here. He couldn't understand how the situation had escalated so unfeasibly quickly. He'd summoned the courage to confess his feelings to her, and this is what he got in return? Her lashing out at him, and for no real justifiable reason. Sure he'd goaded her. But that was his knee-jerk reaction when on the odd occasion he felt backed into a corner.

Moving his head back a few inches so that he could look at her, and she him, she realised with a fearful jolt that they were in fact now on the ceiling. In his own fit of rage, he'd whirled her around and levitated upwards, pushing her back against the roof of his coffin.  
Her hazel eyes grew wider still as they flicked between the messy floor below, and his stern face.

"Ooh, are ya' feelin' a little helpless right about now Lydia?"  
He snarled in a low, don't-you-dare-actually-answer-me tone.

The sound of her pulse beating in her ears, made his voice barely audible, but it sent sweet, electrifying vibrations along her skin. She nodded feebly in response. Her ability to speak too hampered by her breath that was raggedly moving in and out of her mouth at regular, gasping intervals.

"Good. 'Cause now you know how I fuckin' feel, when the woman I love won't believe that I actually love her to death."

She exhaled shakily, her eyes momentarily closing whilst processing his words which were so ardent and raw.  
There was nothing delicate about the way he was holding her. His iron grip wasn't unbearably painful, but it had never been like this before. And the strange sensation of fear mingled with desire, caused her body to shake in an odd trembling rhythm against him.  
Warring with the illicit pleasure he was evoking, she tried to conceal it. She didn't want him to know. She didn't want him to know what he was doing to her.

But the ever-perceptive spook had already sensed it. The first tell-tale sign came courtesy of her rapidly rising temperature, followed by her perfect little nose, which he'd come to notice flared slightly whenever she was mad...or aroused.  
And whilst she was undoubtedly pissed at him, once he'd caught the familiar, intoxicating scent of her fear mixed with excitement....he knew.  
Feeling her body heat sear into him, was warming and comforting. He could've spent hours just absorbing her, holding her close, feeding off her warmth, but his own body became an impatient beast, and a certain part of his anatomy that lay south of the border began to grow increasingly hard. 

He licked his chapped lips, and desperately tried to remain focused, ignoring the inconvenient stirring in his pants.  
After all, she had pretty much rejected him. And then to add insult to injury, had in not so many words accused him of being nothing other than a big, fat fraud. Which made him incandescent with rage, and his pride wouldn't allow him to waver so easily. He refused to give in to his carnal urges. Regardless of how mouth-wateringly exquisite her scent was, or how the knowledge that she was burning for him, drove him completely insane with lust.

Still, the temptation to let her know that he was aware of how his burst of anger had deeply affected her in the most unexpected way, proved too delicious to ignore.  
His voice slowed and deepened into a sensual drawl as he leaned his head forward and their brows met.  
"Oh, er...and I gotta say, I do think it's pretty hot the way fightin' with me turns you on so much babe."

A deep flush flamed up her neck and she dipped her head before it had chance to reach her cheeks.  
Oh god. He had noticed.  
Her heartbeat careened as she began to feel the familiar pulse of arousal deep in her belly, increase further.  
Literally squirming with mortification, she twisted in order to try and put some distance between them.  
Unfortunately in doing so, she accidentally ground into his erection, causing a momentary lapse in his concentration.  
Feeling as if he'd been physically clubbed over the head by the fog of lust which was now hampering his thoughts, his muscles suddenly relaxed, his power waned, and his body fell abruptly, taking her with him.

Fortunately for both of them, they were positioned right above his rickety, old narrow bed. So their landing wasn't hard. Unlike a certain part of Beetlejuice's anatomy.  
She yelped softly, stomach flipping as she felt herself falling.  
His arms wrapped around her tightly, so that she remained atop him as they landed. He might've lost weight, but he still would've squashed her if she'd ended up beneath him on the way down.

They collided with the mattress, bouncing slightly on impact, whilst the frame shook violently, threatening to collapse beneath their weight.  
His embrace loosened, allowing her to roll off of him, and in her daze she almost rolled onto the floor, but with lightning speed he flipped himself over onto his side, and pulled her back up.

Gasping to regain her breath, she stole a glance at him. He lay unmoving, with his eyes closed. No breath, no life.  
And for the first time in a long time, she was reminded of the fact that he was a ghost. Which was bizarre. Even here, six feet underground in his magical coffin, he was still very much a man to her. Not just a ghost. Not a monster. A man.  
A man who had turned her world upside down on more than one occasion. A man who brought chaos were there'd previously been calm. A man who ironically, made her feel alive. A man who...now claimed he loved her.

They lay for several minutes in comfortable silence, facing each other on the tiny, poor excuse for a bed. They were almost nose to nose, and as she stared at him, entranced by the peacefulness of his usually torrid form, she seemed to have the stress drain from her body as well.

"Why...why me?"  
She breathed finally, with great effort.

Without opening an eyelid, his well defined, angled brows knitted together in confusion.  
"Why you what?"

"Out of all the places you've been, and all the girls who must've found you attractive...why did you pick me?" 

"Seriously?"  
His eyes snapped open, and he shifted slightly, straightening somehow so he was now looking down on her. Dwarfing her as usual due to the height difference.  
"Okay, first of all...I ain't met any girls who are still breathing that have found me attractive...and second, d'ya think its a matter of "picking"?"

"Well yeah."  
She lifted her chin high, now as equally confused as him, if not more so.  
"Isn't it?"

"Pfft. No. Attraction ain't all about the physical. It's 'bout attitude, humour, and that kinda stuff. You're funny and smart. I ain't never met an eighteen year old as bright and quirky as you. You know loads of random shit, ya' like poetry and art and opera but you also dig snakes 'n spiders, rock music and old horror movies."

"Seventeen. I don't turn eighteen 'til next week."

"Near as fuckin' damnit. And there, see? Even your argumentative streak is pretty cute. Kinda. Sometimes."  
His mouth kicked up, his eyes now brazen and alive with unadulterated adoration.  
"When it comes to looks, well you're smokin' hot...that dark hair, and pale skin. It's real mysterious and classy."

"I, I dye my hair. I'm a natural brunette."  
She admitted reluctantly, interrupting him once more.  
She couldn't help it. Her nerves were rattling again and her heart was beating like a tribal drum against her rib cage.  
"It's kind of mousey brown actually, pretty boring."

"Quit your rambling Lyds. I gotta be honest with ya', I don't really give a good god damn. Your hair could be luminous fuckin' yellow and you'd still look gorgeous."  
Raising a hand, he lightly grazed the back of his fingers down and across the apple of her cheek. They trailed down, seductively ghosting over her pouting lips, before finally cupping the tip of her jaw line.  
"Actually, 'gorgeous' doesn't really cut it. You're frickin' beautiful. Stunning actually, no....you're a Bambi-eyed goddess."

Lydia gulped, humble beneath the weight of his compliments, transfixed by the clear ocean-green pools that she felt she could drown in.  
God those eyes were beautiful. Deep, mysterious and mournful. At such close proximity, she was able to admire the glowing yellow-golden strands around the iris. In sharp contrast to his over bearing disposition and appearance, they were intelligent - the eyes of a deep thinker. Whilst simultaneously being dangerous, sexy, I-could-do-stuff-to-you-and-you'd-really-like-it eyes.

"I knew ya' were special from the first moment I laid eyes on you, but..."  
He continued, as she eagerly hung on his every word.  
"...I never thought I'd fall for you as hard as I did. But I have. So there, that's why 'you'."

Her small mouth opened slightly, forming the shape to say 'oh' but no sound came out, so instead she just lay with her mouth open like a fish, feeling utterly self conscious and ridiculous. Her throat constricted tightly as his words filtered through her ears and straight to her heart, pumping it up making it feel full to the point of bursting or floating away like a balloon. And she needed him. Needed him there to catch it just in case it did.

"D-did you mean it?"  
She croaked, her voice so strained with emotion she barely recognised it.

He knew immediately what she was referring to, and his body went rigid. His sharp eyebrows scrunching together in frustration.  
"D'ya really gotta ask me that?"

And he was right. She didn't. She knew now for certain that he had meant it. But she wasn't prepared for what happened next.  
Tears pricked her eyes as she felt a hard rush of emotion like she'd never felt before. It was unstoppable. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut but the tears pushed out, and she hurriedly wiped them away with her hand. Hoping he wouldn't mistake her overwhelming, breathtaking happiness for something else.

"Lydia?"

"No...no it's..it's okay..I.."  
She cut him off, but couldn't finish her own sentence, the words having got stuck in her throat.  
She was at a loss. She didn't know what to do. Which was ridiculous considering the intimacies they'd previously shared.  
Where should she put her hands? Should she hug him or just lean in and..?  
God, she felt like such a blushing virgin. But the need to do something was making her lose her mind. The sense of urgency to feel closer to him was unbearable. 

From the moment she'd met him she knew she needed him in her life in some capacity, no matter what that might be. And she'd tried to convince herself that perhaps having him as a friend was enough, more than enough. But she'd found herself wanting much more. She wasn't able to put into words, the love she felt for this man. If she could she would, but now it was coming out in nearly tangible waves. Physical, aching and desperate. And she couldn't stop herself. Like an addict with temptation within her grasp, her fingers itched to touch him again.

Tilting her chin she swooped up, catching him off guard, and kissed him squarely on the lips.  
God, he actually was like some type of crazy drug. Addictive, and taking over her body, commanding and bending it to his will.

But no sooner had he gave in to her bold advances, when he was suddenly pulling back. Wrenching his lips from hers and sitting up.  
His pride was still bruised, and whilst under normal circumstances he'd be more than happy for her to 'kiss it better' he was undeniably perplexed by the turn of events, and wasn't convinced she was thinking clearly. The emotional turmoil was seriously messing with her head. Even his own felt overloaded to the point of exploding.  
"Lydia, don't. C'mon...you don't have to do that."

Pouting sulkily she reached out and grabbed him by his lapels, and tried to pull him into another kiss.  
God she was losing it. So much so that if he suggested having sex on the dirty, rotting floor right there and then she'd have agreed happily.  
"I know I don't have to....I want to."  
She purred, and the words sent a tingling sensation across his skin, making him perceptibly shiver.

"Lydia...Lydia stop. Stop it."  
He wheezed, his words hollow and lacking conviction.  
He didn't want her to stop. But he was an old coward at heart. This wasn't some afterlife floozy he'd picked up in a bar, this was his Lydia. His wife. And she was hitting on him. Hell, she was hitting on him hard.  
And as much as he wanted nothing more than to take her roughly right on the spot, he was nervous.  
Nervous where this was heading. He didn't want to lose control, and he didn't want her having any regrets. But most of all, he didn't want her freaking out when it came to the crunch....because he was, as she'd so rightly pointed out repeatedly in the past, a ghost.  
And she was not. 

"Why?"  
She was asking now, undeterred by his less than enthusiastic response, she attempted to remove his jacket.  
"Don't you want me?"

His large hands covered hers, pressing them to his chest.  
"Shit. You've got no idea! Of course I want ya', I want ya' so bad it fuckin' hurts, but-"

"But what?"  
She persisted, straining upwards to plant soft kisses along his jawline.  
Her insides had melted in a gooey heap, making her forget everything except the raw desire to get her man into bed. Evidently, the fact that he was a ghost was no longer a problem for her. And hadn't been for some time, if she was honest with herself.  
"I want you too."

"Want me to what?"  
His voice was ragged, his eyes practically rolling back into their blackened sockets at the sensation of her warm, full lips now trailing down his neck.

Giddy with lust, she forced him down. And his resistance was crumbling at an alarming rate, as he permitted her to push him to recline on his back.  
He realised then with a start, that she was the only one who could do this to him. The only living, breathing person who held any power or control over him.

"No, I mean I want you. I really do Beej....and I want to-"

"Wait, what? Agh, shit! Please don't say it. Don't. Don't say any of it."  
He grumbled, already eager to hear her racing breath, all hot and heavy echoing inside his mouth once more.  
"You don't know what you're sayin', I don't think ya' know what you want."

Leaning over him, her hands grabbed at his shirt and shoulders.  
"Yeah I do! I'm yours Beej."  
Brazenly she straddled his hips, more than aware that he was hard between her legs. And she was throbbing away, desperate for more.

Growling like a feral wolf, he brought his hips up to meet her. The pulsating warmth of her core burned against him, setting his senses alight, and threatening to consume him.  
"I er...I think ya' can wear my name out now."

She let out a broken moan as she moved against him, her groin crushing against his.  
"Oh...Beetlejuice."

The sound alone of his name being moaned on her luscious lips was enough to make him lose all constraint. But her claiming to be his, and stating she wanted him was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.  
Leaning forwards, he gripped her narrow waist, hands guiding her movements as she rocked against the hard bulge in his trousers, whilst his lips hungrily sought out hers. 

The sensory overload was sublime. The unique scratchy roughness of his chin grazing her own as he claimed her mouth over and over again, teasing and tasting with such sweet erotic pleasure, she was fleetingly reminded of the other wonderful things he could do with it. Those divine lips made her forget who he was, who she was. They explored, aroused, and took. And she would willingly let him have it all. 

There had been many times when Lydia had wished she were someone else. Someone prettier, someone more elegant and eloquent, someone...better. But in this moment she was so happy to be her. Because it was her he was kissing, her that he loved.  
....And incidentally, she had never despised leggings so much as she did right then, for being thin enough to feel but thick enough to not feel enough.

Beetlejuice honestly thought he could take no more as she throbbed damply against his clothed erection. He ripped his mouth away with a gasp, and in one fluid movement flipped her over onto her back so that he was leaning over her.  
Squealing with surprised delight, she quickly set about tugging at his jacket again, and this time he didn't stop her as she wrenched it down. 

"Couldn't you use your juice to take these off?"  
She stated rather than asked, as her hands turned to the tedious task of unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers were trembling, the subdued lighting didn't make the task any easier, and the buttons were irritatingly small and fiddly.

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

Her eyes dragged back up to his face, and he looked every bit the devil he was. So wild, and untamed, dark, mysterious and sinful. How could she ever resist him?  
Pulling his shirt from his trousers, the final button relented, and she eagerly slid her hands up the cold, bare flesh of his stomach. She felt his muscles bunching and tensing beneath the warm pads of her fingers, as they ran up along his chest, before slipping his shirt off completely.  
It fell to the floor, his tie still hanging loosely in place around his neck, and Lydia gawked. Knowing in that moment she would never ever get used to the sight of him naked, well most certainly not from the waist up. 

He wasn't a well-cut hunk, that was a given. But he was impossibly pleasing to the eye nonetheless. She never had been a fan of the 'all abs and pecs' look on a man, it was all a bit too much in her opinion. But Beetlejuice's physique was like a strange sort of perfection in her eyes. His belly was a little rounded but surprisingly solid, as opposed to jiggly as one might expect. His chest was smooth and quite well defined. His broad shoulders and sinewy upper arms were muscular, and he tapered slightly at the waist.  
A light dusting of hair trailed downwards from his belly button, disappearing below the waistband of his trousers.

Even his slight pot belly didn't look out of place on him. His stature oozed masculinity and screamed power. His skin was ashen in hue, like his face and hands, and stained in places with small patches and flecks which she first mistook for dirt or moss. But as her hands glided across it's surface, she quickly realised it was discolouration. Probably caused by having been dead and buried for so many years.  
Then to top it all off, the distinctive faded black ink of a snake tattoo curled downwards across his right breast, it's tongue circling just above his small, but perfectly formed nipple. Which was ludicrously sexy as hell.

Feeling rather uncomfortable and self conscious under her heated gaze, Beetlejuice was doing his best to think of something suitably funny to say in order to break the loaded silence, but he was put out of his misery when she grabbed him by the tie, and pulled him into a deep, spine-tingling kiss. All the while, her nimble hands traced circles against the expanse of his bare back.

"You're gonna be the death of me."  
He whispered against her mouth, as his capable hands took hold of her poncho. 

She smiled at his remark, raising her arms, enabling him to peel the material over her head.  
Unbeknownst to her, with a concealed flick of his hand, the mischievous poltergeist had juiced away the shirt she had been wearing underneath, along with her bra. And now she felt the cool air, and his eyes on her.  
Lunging forwards, he kissed between the mounds of her breasts, savouring the sweet sensation of her tender skin on his deathly lips, and then mercilessly pushed her back against the mattress. 

Everything was moving at super-speed now. Like running down a hill, they were gaining momentum, and with a quick zip and a tug, her boots were removed and dropped onto the floor.  
She had taken the lead initially by starting this. But now his fervent lust had taken over, and he was very much in control. 

His large hands were tugging now at her leggings, pulling them down, and as they went they conveniently took her underwear with them.  
She blushed deeply, feeling incredibly awkward as he leaned back onto his knees in order to disentangle them from her slender legs. She could feel the heavy weight of his passion-filled eyes staring down at her, unblinking and filled with need whilst they roved over her form in awe, revelling in her nudity.  
Painfully aware of her nakedness, her cheeks flamed scarlet with embarrassment. She felt incredibly vulnerable now, and clumsily crossed her hands in a vain attempt to cover her most intimate area.

Taking hold of her hands, he held them firmly out of the way.  
"Don't. There's no need to do that babe."  
He exclaimed hoarsely,  
"Let me see ya'...for the love of God, let me see ya'."

Blinking rapidly, she dared to chance a look at him and was stunned by all the different emotions she saw in his eyes - lust, passion, concern, adoration, and of course...love.  
Brett had never looked at her like this. And he had never made her feel this way.

She was magnificent to Beetlejuice, and the vision of her with her dark hair fanned out across the surface of his shabby little bed, and her brown eyes so full and deep as they locked on his, would forever be burned into his memory.  
Her perfect little rosebud mouth was open, and inviting. And her body....hell, she was like sculpted marble. Creamy white skin teased and tantalised his dilated pupils, and he stared in unashamed bliss whilst his hands explored her legs, sliding from knee to inner thigh. 

Her pulse sped, causing the blood to chug through her veins at a rapid rate, and she made the kind of noise that Brett could only dream of hearing.

"Chirst. You're so damn beautiful."  
He stilled, and she detected the uncertainty in his gravelly voice.  
Agonising about defiling such an exquisite beauty, he was torn between ravaging her or refusing to go any further.  
Could he do this? Was he truly capable of sullying her with his foul, demonic touch? And taking away her purity? He wasn't so sure anymore. Despite him having dreamed of this moment, now it had actually arrived he found himself hesitating.

Growing increasingly anxious, Lydia began to shift slightly.  
"Beetlejuice? Is there something wrong?"

He shot her an endearing snaggletoothed smile, rubbing the back of his neck, and her confusion lifted. He was as nervous as her. Unbelievable.

"No, no nuthin' wrong I just....well, are ya' sure about this babe? I mean like, absolutely fuckin' positive? I really need to know, 'cause if ya' ain't then just tell me. It's no problem-"

Sitting forwards, she laced her arms around his neck, and rained kisses down on his face, which served to render him silent.  
She admired and appreciated his respect and consideration for her, but she knew that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. And the insatiable longing she felt for him had been building, and was now an ache. She ached for him. 

No one had ever made her feel the way he made her feel. And she knew in her heart of hearts they never would.  
Of course there were sides to him she didn't completely know, and many parts of him she didn't understand. But it no longer mattered to her. It was those blank spaces that made her want to be closer, and what made her feel so comfortable around him. Those empty spaces no longer scared her, because he loved her, and she knew he would never harm her.

"I've never been more sure about anything in my entire life."  
She smiled gently into his wild hair, as she tried to steady her breathing.  
"Beetlejuice I...I love you."

Who knew that those three simple words could carry so much gravity when spoken with true feeling by the one you adored? Beetlejuice sure as hell didn't, after having forgotten long ago what it was like to love, and be loved. But now he swore those words had just brought him back to life. A searing tug on his once-dead heartstrings suddenly ignited a surging passion and intensity he'd never felt before in the cavity of his chest.  
She loved him? Fuck. She actually loved him, and she was giving herself to him willingly.  
Nothing on Earth, or any other planet or plane of existence could ever compare to that.  
So what was he waiting for? 

Tumbling back against the bed, his body came crushing down on her, their bare skin, warm against cold, stinging with the contact.  
He took possession of her lips in a passionate kiss, one that made her heart flutter and set her body aflame. Everything glowed, throbbing with anticipation. 

Oh god, this was it. This was finally going to happen. It was really happening...

She arched into him, pressing her breasts into his bare chest. The welcome scrap of his striped trousers against her bare skin felt amazing, and a deep, utterly masculine groan tore from his throat.  
Overcome with the need to touch him, to really feel him, she ran her hands along his stomach, and she felt his muscles tighten as her fingers came to hover above his waistband.

He broke from the kiss in order to take a sharp intake of breath, something he hadn't done in centuries but it was instinctive, and primal. Brought on by the feeling of her hands fumbling at his belt. The girl was driving him nuts. He could feel himself careering towards breaking point, he was close to abandoning all restraint. He needed to take her. Roughly and gently, and in every way imaginable.

Seemingly impatient, he assisted her with his belt. She heard the tell-tale sound of his buckle being undone, and shivered in anticipation. She couldn't turn back now. Not without having him. She wanted them to conjoin, to feel him inside her and see him come apart and know that they had done this together. The two of them. 

Reaching down between them, she pushed his hand aside and practically tore open his trousers, forcing them down just enough to allow his erection to spring free. She couldn't see from her current angle but she could certainly feel, and had to suppress a gasp due to the size of his large shaft.  
Oh dear god, she was going to be torn in two with that thing!

Gently she took him in her hand, causing him to throw his head back and moan appreciatively. He felt hard and heavy in her hand, and as she began moving her wrist back and forth, working him rhythmically, she could feel him harden further, throbbing against her palm.

Sparks shot through his body, and he had to fight to keep control.  
"Babe...you're fuckin' killing me here."  
He rasped, as he dragged his teeth along the skin of her neck, before licking the small sting away.

Then there was no more foreplay, no slow touching, or gentle petting as his fingers grasped her firmly by the hips, and he ranked between her trembling thighs, sucking in another deep breath as if to steady his nerves.  
Lydia found herself holding her breath. She was about to have sex. Sex with a ghost. Sex with him, the notorious 'Betelgeuse.'  
But as she braced herself for his imminent penetration, any fleeting doubts she had was overruled by insatiable lust, and the unshakable love she felt for him.

She felt his length probing at her slick entrance, and bit her lip nervously.  
And then he was there. Pushing into her maddeningly slowly, inching further and further, stretching her to accommodate him.  
She yelped in pain, and her hands dug into his shoulders.

"Sorry babe, d'ya want me to stop?"  
He asked, his voice filled with concern and uncertainty.  
"It'll get easier I promise, but hey, there's no pressure. I don't wanna hurt ya'."

Shaking her head in response, she screwed her eyes tightly shut. Trying to focus on something other than the immense discomfort as he cautiously pushed further until his entire length was sheathed inside of her.  
Placing a large hand at her hip to steady her, and ensure that neither of them moved, he immediately froze for a moment, to give them both time to recover.  
She was so incredibly tight, it would've been excruciating for him had she not been so wet.

Eventually her dark eyes opened, and locked on his.  
Without breaking eye contact he slowly began moving, pushing and retracting gently. The initial pain began to fade to slight discomfort, and she soon found the overwhelming sensation of having him move inside her, deliciously distracting. She could feel every inch of him impaling her in agonising bliss, unable to tell where he began and she ended.

"Ooh...god."  
She breathed, and saw his face contort as she instinctively began rocking her pelvis back and forth, matching his pumping motion. Spurred on by her actions, he propped himself up on one elbow, forcing their bodies closer as he increased his pace.  
Moving together, his hips moved against hers, making her toes curl as the unmistakable heat and sweet tension began to stir at her groin. She found herself eagerly grasping him by the hips, and urging him on. He needed no persuasion to drive into her harder, he was more than willing to comply.

"Aagh, holy shit.."  
He whispered raggedly against the curve of her shoulder.  
"...you feel so damn good babe."

Completely lost in the moment, she brought her slim legs up, crossing them at the ankle behind him, enabling him to push deeper, whilst wrapping her arms around his back so that all of her limbs encircled him tightly. Trapping him to her. She never wanted to let him go, or be without him.

"Oh my god...don't...don't stop."  
She moaned breathlessly Her eyes had long since flickered shut, losing her senses to him completely.  
They were grinding against each other vigorously. He felt so utterly divine she couldn't refrain from expressing herself vocally, and began to groan with his every thrust.  
He rewarded her by skilfully moving his pelvis in a tight circle, the rotation of which she felt deep inside, and thought she might come apart as he held her.

"Lydia, Lydia look at me."  
He demanded gruffly.

It took a great amount of effort to prise open her heavy lids, but she obeyed his command. Focusing on his devilish features as he gazed down upon her. 

"Keep your eyes on me baby, and say my name."  
The intensity of his voice matched his expression, as he returned to his previous thrusting motion, hitting just the right spot in order to send her floating towards the sweet abyss.

Her hands smoothed down the tensing muscles in his back, and grabbed at the curve of his ass through his trousers, feeling his rhythmic thrusting beneath her touch.  
Within the span of a minute or two, she was on the brink, and willingly surrendered to it. Her moans turning to cries of pleasure as the pulsating intensity of her climax racked her body, wave after wave coursing through her veins like a tsunami. Causing her to spasm and shake beneath him.  
"Ahh...Beetlejuice!"

His hands grabbed the sheets around her head, and his arms tightened around her. She couldn't breath, she couldn't move, and she wouldn't want to.

"Are ya' okay?"  
He murmured, his voice coming out all rough.

"Mmm hmm."  
She placed soft, feathery kisses on his sallow cheek, which turned to possessive ones as she shifted around in his embrace, feeling him withdraw from her.  
Even as she kissed him, she wasn't willing to accept that this was the part where they cuddled for a while and slept. She could sense his desire, still growing and burning like a fire. And she just couldn't get enough of him. 

Tenderly he kissed her on the forehead, then her nose, her lips, and chin. But the journey of his lips didn't stop there. He moved southward, kissing the exact spot where she could feel her pulse. Licking, nipping, and swirling his tongue across her breasts as he went  
"Shit, babe. D'you have any idea what ya' do to me?"  
Slowly taking her right leg he placed it on his shoulder and looked down at her.

Lydia would freely admit to being undoubtedly shy and bashful in the bedroom. Her sexual experience limited to the few intimacies she had shared with Brett. But whilst Beetlejuice no longer made her feel insecure, and had done things to her that reduced her to a quivering mess, the way he was looking down at her so intimately now, she couldn't help but try to pull her trembling, putty legs together. Which was impossible with the position he had her in...exactly at his mercy

He looked into her eyes and the corners of his purple-tinged lips turned up, letting her know what he was going to do to her...with her.  
In the next instant, he grabbed hold of her hips fiercely as if he wouldn't ever let go. She felt his presence at the centre of her, the sweet spot between her legs that was pooling with moisture. Feeling how hard and ready he was to take her again, the anticipation was painful. Like waiting at the top of a high peak, and not knowing if you would fly or fall.

He pushed in one long, hard thrust, sheathing himself deep inside her, and she whimpered some incoherent sound.  
Bracing herself, he pulled back, holding her hips as leverage, he surged forwards and took up a punishing rhythm at the very first instant, determined to get her there again. And the bed rattled with the brute force of him.

Her head pushed back into one of his pillows, new pleasure flooding her, defeating in its intensity as he kept up the pace. Every thrust harder and deeper than the previous, leaving a beautiful, unbelievable impact on her body.  
She could feel him trying to stay in control but she wanted him to lose it. To feel like she did. Lost and found all at once.

"Ohh..Beetlejuice..."  
She panted, knowing her words would be enough to push him over the edge.  
"...please..please...take me."  
Her voice was needy and betrayed her every desire, as if her sweating, shaking body wasn't doing that already.

"Oh, fuck! Lydia.."  
He said her name like it was a curse word, in a low strangled voice.

She heard his sounds, so distinct and pleasurable with his every movement, and it was making her sprint towards the finish line rather than walk. Her nipples hardened, as she felt his eyes, wild, emerald-green and out of control, on her. Taking their fill. 

He throbbed inside her languid heat, feeling the sensuous contraction as he drove himself into her, again and again.  
Holy fuck, it was the sexiest fuckin' thing he'd ever seen.  
The sight of his length sliding in and out of her, slick with her arousal as she clamped around him, made him lightheaded, and his limbs buzzed with excitement. He knew he was going to come soon...and come with the fuckin' thunder.

His thrusts quickened, and she could feel them, strong and deep. Her pulse rocketed and she swore her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her throat, her chest, and where they were joined. He placed a soft kiss to her leg, a stark contrast to the brutal rhythm he had set, and she cried out as the most intense surge of pleasure threatened to shatter her soul into a million pieces.  
Arching up off the bed, her entire body felt like a thread that had been snapped in two, and for a moment she thought she might actually black out.

His fingers on her hips sunk deep into her soft skin, his sharp nails leaving marks no doubt. He continued to pound unapologetically until a few moments later he stilled abruptly, his nerves and muscles bulging, as he let out a primal, animalistic sound.  
It was a sight to behold. And a mind numbing wave of pleasure consumed her, as she felt the distinct sensation of his release, spilling inside her.  
He thrust two more times, filling her to the hilt before involuntarily sagging, and falling onto her heavily.

Sweet god she loved him so much it almost killed her. And it quite possibly had, being as she was now stranded here with him in his grave. But she couldn't bring herself to think upon that right now. She wanted to wallow in the euphoria of having just slept with her husband. Most definitely the ghost with the most.  
She was already aching, her body feeling extremely tender, but she couldn't have cared less. Inside she was glowing,  
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face into his chest as they both lay sated and spent, coming down from their high.

Lifting himself slightly, the deliriously happy ghoul pressed a kiss to her forehead, and smiled fiendishly at her.  
"Where've you been all my afterlife?"

Smiling uncontrollably, she honestly didn't have an articulate answer for him, or a witty comeback. So instead she just spoke from the heart.  
"I don't know. I've always been right here I guess. Waiting for you to find me."


End file.
